Title: Lost Pueblo
Author: Zane Grey
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eBook No.: 0608311h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: November 2006
Date most recently updated: November 2006
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Lost Pueblo

by

Zane Grey

CHAPTER 1

Janey Endicott did not see anything of Arizona until morning.
The train had crossed the state line after dark. New Mexico,
however, with its bleak plains and rugged black ranges, its
lonely reaches, had stirred in her quite new sensations. Her
father had just knocked upon her door, awakening her at an
unusual hour. She had leaped at her father's casual proposal to
take a little trip West with him, but it had begun to have a
rather interesting significance to her. And Janey was not so sure
how she was going to take it.

They had arrived at Flagerstown late in the night, and Janey
had gone to bed tired out. Upon awakening this morning, she was
surprised at an absence of her usual languor. She appeared wide
awake in a moment. The sun streamed in at the window, very bright
and golden; and the air that blew in with it was sharp and
cold.

"Gee! I thought someone said it was spring-time," said Janey,
as she quickly got into slippers and dressing gown. Then she
looked out of her window. Evidently the little hotel was situated
on the outskirts of town. She saw a few scattered houses on each
side, among the pine trees. There were rugged gray rocks, covered
with vines and brush. The pines grew thicker and merged into a
dark green forest. In the distance showed white peaks against the
deep blue of sky. Janey had an inkling that she was going to like
this adventure.

She did not care to admit it, but, although she was only
twenty years old, she had found a good deal to pall on her at
home in the East. Serious thought appeared to be something she
generally shunned; yet to her, now and then, it came
involuntarily.

While she dressed she pondered upon the situation. She had
never been West before. After college there had been European
travel, and then the usual round of golf, motoring, dancing, with
all that went with them. She was well aware of her father's
dissatisfaction with her generation. Despite his attitude he had
seldom interfered with her ways of being happy. This trip had a
peculiar slant, now that she scrutinized it closely. They were to
meet a young archaeologist here in Flagerstown, and probably
arrange to have him take them to the canyon and other scenic
places. Janey had become acquainted with him in New York, where
he had been lecturing on the prehistoric ruins of the Southwest.
Phillip Randolph had struck Janey as being different from the
young men she played about with, but insofar as her charms were
concerned he was as susceptible as the rest. Randolph had never
betrayed his feelings by word or action. He had seemed a manly,
quiet sort of chap, college bred, but somewhat old-fashioned in
his ways, and absorbed in his research work. Janey had liked him
too well to let him see much of her. Not until she and her father
had been out West did he mention that he expected to meet
Randolph. Then she was reminded that her father had been quite
taken with the young archaeologist. It amused Janey.

"Dad might have something up his sleeve," she soliloquized. "I
just don't quite get him lately."

Janey found him in the comfortable sitting room, reading a
newspaper before an open fireplace. He was a well-preserved man
of sixty, handsome and clean-cut of face, a typical New Yorker,
keen and worldly, yet of kindly aspect.

"Good morning, Janey," he said, folding his paper and smiling
up at her. "I see you've dispensed with at least some of your
make-up. You look great."

"I confess I feel great," responded Janey, frankly. "Must be
this Arizona air. Lead me to some lamb chops, Dad."

At breakfast Janey caught a twinkle in her father's fine eyes.
He was pleased that she appeared hungry and not inclined to find
fault with the food and drink served. Janey felt he had more on
his mind than merely giving her a good time. It might well be
that he was testing a theory of his own relative to the reaction
of an oversophisticated young woman to the still primitive
West.

"Randolph sent word that he could not meet us here," remarked
her father. "We will motor out to a place called Mormon Canyon.
It's a trading post, I believe. Randolph will be there."

"We'll ride into the desert?" asked Janey, with
enthusiasm.

"Nearly a hundred miles. I daresay it will be a ride you'll
remember. Janey, will you wear that flimsy dress?"

"Surely. I have my coat in case it's cold."

"Very well. Better pack at once. I've ordered a car."

"Are there any stores in this burg? I want to buy several
things."

"Yes. Some very nice stores. But hurry, my dear. I'm eager to
start."

When Janey went out to do her shopping, she certainly wished
she had worn her coat. The air was nipping, and the wind whipped
dust in her face. Flagerstown appeared a dead little town. She
shuddered at the idea of living there. Limiting her errands to
one store, she hurried back toward the hotel. She encountered
Indians who despite their white man's garb were picturesque and
thrilling to her. She noted that they regarded her with interest.
Then she saw a Mexican boy leading several beautiful spirited
horses. There was nothing else in her short walk that attracted
her attention.

In a short time she was packed and ready for her father when
he came to her room. He acted more like a boy than her erstwhile
staid and quiet parent. The car was waiting outside.

"We're off," declared Mr. Endicott with an air of finality.
And Janey bit her tongue to keep from retorting that he could
speak for himself.

Soon they left the town behind and entered a forest of stately
pines, growing far apart over brown-matted, slow-rising ground.
The fragrance was similar to that of Eastern forests, except that
it had a dry, sweet quality new to Janey. Here and there the road
crossed open ranch country, from which snow-clad peaks were
visible. Janey wondered why Easterners raved so about the Alps
when the West possessed such mountains as these. She was sorry
when she could see them no more. Her father talked a good deal
about this part of Arizona, and seemed to be well informed.

"Say, Dad, have you been out here before?" she asked.

"No. Randolph talked about the country. He loves it. No
wonder!"

Janey made no reply, and that perhaps was more of a compliment
than she usually paid places. The road climbed, but neither the
steepness nor the roughness of it caused the driver any concern.
Soon the car, entering thicker forest, dark and cool, reached the
summit of a ridge and started down a gradual descent, where the
timber thinned out, and in a couple of miles failed on the edge
of the desert.

It was Janey Endicott's first intimate sight of any desert.
She felt strongly moved; yet whether it was in awe or wonder or
reverence or fear, or a little of each combined, she could not
tell. The sum of every extended view she had ever seen, in her
whole life, could not compare with the tremendous open space
before her. First it was silver and gray, dotted with little
green trees, then it sloped off yellow and red, and ended in a
great hollow of many hues, out of which dim finde shapes
climbed.

"That must be the Painted Desert, if I remember Randolph
correctly," said her father. "It is magnificent. Nothing in
Europe like it! And Randolph told me that this is nothing
compared to the Utah country two hundred miles north."

"Let's go, Dad," replied Janey, dreamily.

From that time on the ride grew in absorbing interest for
Janey, until she was no longer conscious of reflection about her
impressions. The Little Colorado River, the vast promontory of
Kishlipi, the giant steppes up to the Badlands, the weird and
sinister rock formations stretching on to an awful blue gulf
which was the Grand Canyon; the wondrous flat tablelands called
mesas by the driver, the descent into glaring sandy Moencopi
Wash, and up again, higher than ever, and on and on over leagues
of desert, with black ranges beckoning--these successive stages
of the ride claimed Janey's attention as had no other scenery in
her experience.

She was not ready for the trading post. They had reached it
too soon for her. It looked like one of the blocks of red rock
they had passed so frequently. But near at hand it began to look
more like a habitation. All about was sand, yellow and red and
gray; and on the curved knife-edged ridge-crests it was blowing
like silver smoke. There were patches of green below the trading
post, and beneath them a wide hollow, where columns of dust or
sand whirled across the barren waste. Beyond rose white-whorled
cliffs, wonderful to see, and above them, far away, the black
fringed top of an endless mesa.

"What do you think of it, Janey?" asked Endicott
curiously.

"Now I understand why Phillip Randolph seemed such a square
peg in a round hole, as my friends called him," replied Janey,
enigmatically.

"Humph! They don't know him very well," declared her
father.

They were met at the door of the post by the trader, John
Bennet. He was carrying some Navajo rugs. His sombrero was tipped
over one ear. He had a weather-beaten face, and was a middle-aged
man of medium height, grizzled and desert-worn, with eyes that
showed kindliness and good humor.

"Wal, heah you are," he welcomed them, throwing down the rugs.
"Reckon we wasn't expectin' you so soon. Get down an' come
in."

Janey entered the door, into what appeared to be a colorful
and spacious living room. Here she encountered a large woman with
sleeves rolled up showing brown and capable arms. She beamed upon
Janey and bade her make herself "to home." Then she joined the
others outside, leaving Janey alone.

She looked around with interest. The broad window seat, with
windows opening to the desert view, appealed strongly to Janey.
Removing coat and hat she sat down to rest and take stock of
things.

The long room contained many Indian rugs, some of which
adorned the walls. On a table lay scattered silver-ornamented
belts, hatbands and bridles. Over the wide fireplace mantel hung
Indian plaques, and on top of the bookcase were articles of
Indian design, beaded, and some primitive pottery. A burned-out
fire smoldered on the hearth.

At this point Mrs. Bennet came in, accompanied by the trader,
and Endicott, and a tall young man in khaki. Janey had seen him
somewhere. Indeed, it was Phillip Randolph. Brown-faced, roughly
garbed, he fitted the desert environment decidedly to Janey's
taste.

"Miss Endicott, I reckon you don't need no introduction to
Phil here," announced Mrs. Bennet, with a keen glance running
over Janey's short French frock, sheer stockings and high-heeled
shoes.

"Phil?...Oh, you mean Mr. Randolph." The young man bowed
rather stiffly and stepped toward her.

"I hope you remember me, Miss Endicott," he said.

"I do, Mr. Randolph," replied Janey, graciously, offering her
hand.

"It's good to see you out here in my West. I really never
believed you'd come, though your father vowed he'd fetch
you."

Here Phillip came to the rescue, as Janey remembered he had
always done in New York.

"Mrs. Bennet, it's not a question of ill health for anybody,"
he explained. "Mr. Endicott was an old friend of my father's. I
met him in New York. He wanted to come out West and get Miss
Janey as far away from civilization as possible, to--"

"I'll say he's done it," interrupted Janey. "It must be a real
knockout to live here if you're crazy about miles of nothing but
sand, rocks and sky, and you've committed some crime or other and
want to hide."

Mrs. Bennet tried to control her amazement.

"Mr. Endicott, your rooms are not quite ready. Please wait
here a little....Pa, see that them lazy cowboys fetch in the
baggage."

"Phil, where are the boys, anyhow?" asked Bennet, as his
spouse bustled out.

"They were lounging in the shade when the car came up. Then
they disappeared like jack rabbits in the sage. Sure they're
going to be funny. I'll help you find them."

"Folks, make yourselves comfortable," invited Bennet, and left
the room with the archaeologist.

Mr. Endicott sauntered over to Janey and gazed disapprovingly
down upon her.

"Janey, I don't mind you calling me crazy or poking fun at me.
But please don't extend that to my young friend Randolph. His
father was the finest man I ever knew, and Phillip is pretty much
like him....Janey, you'll have to put your best foot forward if
you want to appear well to Phillip Randolph. He's not likely to
see the sophisticated type with a microscope out here. In New
York he had you buffaloed. You couldn't like him because you
didn't understand him."

"Darling Father," replied Janey, smiling tantalizingly up at
him. "Your name may be Elijah, but you're no prophet. I liked
your young friend well enough to let him alone. But that was in
New York where there are a million men. I don't know about out
here. Probably he'll bore me to extinction. Can't you see he's as
dry as the dust of this desert? He's living two thousand years
behind the times. Fancy digging in the earth for things of the
past. Well, he might dig up a jeweled corncob pipe and discover
there were glamour girls in the old Aztec days."

"Janey, you're nothing if not incorrigible," returned Mr.
Endicott in despair.

"Dad, I'm your daughter. I don't know whether you've brought
me up poorly or I've neglected you. But the fact is all our
educators and scientists claim the parents of the present
generation are responsible for our demerits."

"How about all your men?" queried Endicott, evidently
emboldened for the minute. "Lord! When I think of the men you've
made idiots! Take that last one--the young Valentino who brags of
being engaged to you."

Janey laughed merrily. "Dad, do you think that's nice? Bert
Durland is just too sweet for words; also he dances
divinely."

"Durland is a slick little article. Like his social
ladder-climbing mama. But I'll see that he doesn't dance or climb
into your inheritance."

"Thank you," said Endicott, picking up his coat and hat.
"Janey, you've got me right. I did separate you from Durland.
Also from a lot of other fortune hunters. That's why you're out
in this desert for a spell. Except for Bennet and Randolph, whom
you can't flirt with, there's not a man within a hundred
miles."

Endicott went out with the Indian maid, and at the same moment
a young man entered the other door, carrying a valise in each
hand. He had a ruddy face, and was carelessly dressed in striped
woolen shirt, overalls and top boots. He wore a big dusty
sombrero.

When he spotted Janey his eyes popped wide open and he dropped
one valise, then the other.

"Was you addressin' me, Miss?" he asked, ecstatically.

"Not then. I was speaking to my father. He just left the
room....You--sort of took me by surprise."

"Shore, you tuk my wind."

"Do you live here?" asked Janey, with interest. This trading
post might not turn out so badly after all.

"An' I'm Mohave. The boys call me that after the Mohave Desert
which ain't got no beginnin' or end."

As Janey broke into laughter another young man entered, also
carrying a grip in each hand. He was overdressed, like a
motion-picture cowboy, and he had a swarthy, dark face. He gave
Janey a warm smile.

"Cowboy, reckon you can put them bags down an' get back for
more," blandly said Mohave.

"Buenas dias, Senorita," greeted this one, dropping the bags
and sweeping the floor with his sombrero. Janey was quick to see
that Mohave suddenly remembered to remove his own wide
headgear.

"Same to you," replied Janey, smiling as teasingly as
possible.

"Miss Endicott, this here's Diego," said Mohave,
apologetically. "He's a Mexican. He seen a Western movie once an'
ain't never got over it. He's been dressed up all day waitin' for
you."

"I'm tremendously flattered," returned Janey.

"Mees, thees are your bags I carry. I peeck them ut weeth your
name on."

"Oh, Mees! Senor Buffalo Beel you call me. I have seen heem in
the movies."

Here he drew two guns with an exaggerated motion-picture-drama
style. "A-ha! Veelian! Een my power at las'! A-ha! Your time ees
come. I keel you!"

He brandished both guns in Janey's face. In alarm she slipped
off the window seat to dodge behind a table.

"Diego, you locoed cowpuncher, get on the job," ordered
Mohave, forcibly. "Ray is comin'."

Diego evidently had respect for Mohave. Hurriedly sheathing
his guns, and picking up his sombrero he recovered the two
valises. Meanwhile Janey emerged from behind the table.

"Mees, Diego will act for you again," he announced
grandly.

"Ye-es. Thanks. But please make it someplace where I can
dodge," replied Janey.

Diego left the room, and Mohave, taking up his load, turned to
Janey.

"Miss Endicott, don't trust Diego, or any of these other
hombres. An' perticular, don't ride their horses. You'll shore
get throwed an' mebbe killed. But my pet horse is shore gentle.
I'll take you ridin' tomorrow."

"I'd love to go with you," returned Janey.

Then Mohave made swift tracks after Diego, just in time to
escape being seen by a third cowboy, who entered from outside,
carrying a trunk as if it had been a feather. He set it down. He
was bareheaded, a blond young man, not bad looking, in size alone
guaranteed to command respect. And his costume struck a balance
between that of Diego and Mohave.

Janey gazed at him and exclaimed, "Well! Tarzan in cowboy
boots, no less."

Ray stared, then walked in a circle to see whom she meant. But
as there was no other man present he seemed to divine the truth,
and approached her straightaway.

"Wal, for Gawd's sake!" he broke out, in slow sepulchral
tones.

"Oh, yes, indeed, it's you I mean," returned Janey, all
smiles. "I'll bet when your horse is tired you pick him up and
carry him right home."

"Wal, for Gawd's sake!" ejaculated Ray, exactly as before.

"Are there any more verses to that song?"

"Wal--for Gawd's sake!"

"Third and last--I hope."

"First time I ever seen an angel or heered one talk," he
declared.

"Please don't call me an angel. Angels are good. I'm not. I'm
wild. That's why I've been dragged out West. Ask Dad, he knows.
Say, that reminds me. I'm dying for a smoke. Dad's old-fashioned
and I don't carry them when he's around. Could you give me a
cigarette?"

It fascinated Ray to see Janey roll her own. He was so
absorbed that he failed to note the entrance of a fourth cowboy,
who was burdened with hatboxes and more grips. He was the
handsomest of the lot. With his fine intent eyes straight ahead,
not noticing Janey, he crossed the room and went into the
hallway. Janey had watched him pass in a surprise that grew into
pique. He had never looked once at her. He would have to pay for
that slight.

"Shore any kid with a ma couldn't ever roll a cigarette an'
smoke it like you do."

"Indeed! Ray, are you a desert preacher?" queried Janey,
distantly.

"Sorry, Miss. Shore didn't mean to hurt yore feelin's. But it
kind of got me--seein' you smoke like thet. Yore so damn--'scuse
me, I mean yore so shore pretty that it goes agin my grain to see
you up to dance-hall tricks."

"You don't like women to smoke?" returned Janey,
curiously.

"Perticular, I don't like to see you smokin'."

"Then I won't," decided Janey, and walking to the fireplace
she threw the cigarette down.

"Jes--jes 'cause I don't like you to smoke?" ejaculated Ray,
rapturously.

"Here's Diego to give a hand. I was jest tellin' Miss Endicott
how you could ride. An' she's shore ailin' to see you round up
the cows."

Diego's look of fiery pride slowly changed to one of
suspicion; and Tay-Tay stared from him to Mohave. The next thing
to happen was Ray shoving Diego into the room, and stalking after
him, to transfix Mohave with menacing eyes.

"Wal, for Gawd's sake! So you was jest gettin' me out of the
way. Said Bennet was lookin' for me. Wal, cowboy, he ain't."

"Tay-Tay, yore tongue's not only more tied since you seen Miss
Endicott, but yore mind is wuss," complained Mohave.

Then followed a silence which Janey hugely enjoyed. What a
time she was going to have! Wouldn't she turn the tables on her
tricky father? Mohave backed away from the threatening Ray. The
other boys edged nearer to Janey, who thought it wise to retreat
to the window seat. The suspense of the moment was broken by the
entrance of Zoroaster, who swung two pairs of boxing gloves in
his hands. Behind him entered the Indian maid.

"Mees, your room ees ready," she announced, and retired.

Janey was in no hurry to follow. Something might happen here
too good to miss.

"Thar you are!" announced Zoroaster, indicating Tay-Tay. He
might be a Mormon, but he was certainly good to look at, decided
Janey.

"W-w-what y-y-you w-w-want me for?" stuttered Tay-Tay,
rebelliously.

"Yore time's come. I've been layin' fer you. An' right now we
can have it out," returned the grim Mormon.

"W-w-why right now more'n another time?" asked Tay-Tay.

"Wal," spoke up Ray, "I reckon a blind man could see thet.
Lope on outdoors, Tay, an' get yours."

Diego showed his white teeth in a gleaming smile.

"Geeve the gloves to Ray an' Mohave. They're lookeen for
trouble."

"It's me who's lookin' fer trouble, an' after I'm through with
Tay I'll take any of you on. Savvy?"

"B-b-but if I w-w-want to q-q-quit in the m-m-middle of a
round I won't be able to say s-s-s-stop," replied Tay-Tay.

"Aw, yore jest plain backin' out before this lady....Wal, who
of you will put them on?"

Zoroaster looked from one to the other. They all appeared to
have become absentminded. Janey had an inspiration, and rose,
radiant, from the window seat.

"I will, Mr. Zoroaster," she said.

The Mormon cowboy's face turned redder than his hair. He was
dumbfounded, and plainly fought to keep from running. But Janey's
smile chained him. If she saw in the boxing bout an opportunity
to get acquainted with Zoroaster, he evidently saw one to outdo
the other zealous suitors for her favor. Awkwardly he thrust a
pair of gloves at her.

Janey affected practice while Zoroaster circled her. Plainly
he was not a scientific boxer; and Janey, who had had many a bout
with the club instructor, saw some fun ahead. Suddenly she ceased
her pretense and went for Zoroaster, swift and light as a cat,
and grasped at once that she could hit him when and where she
pleased.

"Ride 'em, cowgirl. Oh, my!" cried Mohave.

"Thet's placin' one, Miss," shouted Ray, in great glee.

"S-s-s-soak him fer me," stuttered Tay-Tay, in delight.

"Senorita, you ees one grande boxer," declared Diego,
dramatically.

Zoroaster's fear and amazement helped to put him at Janey's
mercy. She danced around the transfixed Mormon, raining taps upon
his handsome nose. Finally she struck him smartly with her left,
and followed that up with as hard a right swing as she could
muster. It landed square on Zoroaster's nose and all but upset
him.

The cowboys, instead of roaring, seemed suddenly paralyzed.
Janey, glowing and panting, turned to see what was wrong. Her
father stood in the doorway, horrified, completely robbed of the
power of speech. Zoroaster bolted out of the front door, followed
by his cowboy comrades.

Janey's mirth was not one whit lessened by the sight of her
father's face. Gayly she ran to him, extending the gloves to be
untied.

CHAPTER 2

From that moment events multiplied. Janey could not keep track
of them. She was having the time of her life. And every now and
then it burst upon her what really innocent fun it was, compared
to the high pressure of life in the East.

She had disrupted the even tenor of the trading post. Bennet
averred that something must be done about it. His cowboys had
gone crazy. If they remembered their work it was to desert it or
do it wrong. They manufactured the most ridiculous excuses to
ride away from the ranch, when it chanced that Janey was out
riding. When she was at home they each and every one fell victim
to all the ailments under the sun.

Janey saw very little of Randolph during her first days at the
post. He always left before she got up in the morning, and
returned from his excavating work late in the afternoon. She met
him, of course, at dinner, when they all sat at a long table, and
in the living room afterward, but never alone. Janey was quite
aware of the humor with which he regarded her flirtation with the
cowboys. She did not like his attitude, and wasted a thought now
and then as to how she would punish him.

On the whole, however, she was too happy to even remember her
father's reason for fetching her out to the desert. The actual
reasons for her peculiar happiness she had not yet analyzed.

It was all so new. She rode for hours every day, sometimes
alone, which was a difficult thing to maneuver--and often with
her father, and the cowboys. The weather was glorious; the desert
strangely, increasingly impelling; the blue sky and white clouds,
the vivid colors and magnificent formations of the rock walls had
some effect she was loath to acknowledge.

When had she been so hungry and tired at nightfall? She went
to bed very early because everybody did so; and she slept as
never before. Her skin began to take on a golden brown, and she
gained weight. Both facts secretly pleased her. The pace at home
had kept her pale and thin. Janey gazed in actual amazement and
delight at the face that smiled back at her from the mirror. Once
she mused, "I'll say this Painted Desert has got the beauty shops
beaten all hollow."

Her father had asked her several times to ride over to Sagi
Canyon, where Randolph was excavating. But Janey had pretended
indifference as to his movements. As a matter of fact, she was
curious to see what his work was like--what in the world could
make a young man prefer digging in the dust to her company? There
was another reason why she would not go, and it was because the
more she saw of Phillip Randolph and heard about him from the
cowboys and Bennet--who were outspoken in their praise the better
she liked him and the more she resented liking him.

For the present, however, the cowboys were more than
sufficient for Janey. They were an endless source of interest,
fun and wholesome admiration.

In ten days not a single one of them had attempted to hold her
hand, let alone kiss her. Janey would rather have liked them, one
and all, to hold her hand; and she would not have run very far to
keep from being kissed. But it began to dawn upon her that
despite an utter prostration of each cowboy at her feet, so to
speak, there was never even a hint of familiarity, such as was
natural as breathing to the young men of her set.

First it struck Janey as amusing. Then she sought to break it
down. And before two weeks were up she began to take serious
thought of something she had not supposed possible to the genus
Homo, young or old, East or West.

Janey did not care to be forced to delve into introspection,
to perplex herself with the problem of modern youth. She had had
quite enough of that back East. Papers, magazines, plays,
sermons, and lectures, even the movies, had made a concerted
attack upon the younger generation. It had been pretty sickening
to Janey. How good to get away from that atmosphere for a while!
Perhaps here was a reason why she liked the West. But there
seemed to be something working in her, which sooner or later she
must face.

One afternoon Janey returned from her ride earlier than usual,
so that she did not have to hurry and dress for dinner. She had
settled herself in the hammock when her father and Randolph rode
in from the opposite direction. The hammock was hidden under the
vines outside the living-room window. They did not see Janey and
she was too lazy or languid to call to them.

A little later she heard them enter the living room. The
window there was open. "Janey must be dressing," said
Endicott.

"She's back. I saw her saddle. We have time for a little chat.
I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Go ahead. I'm glad our ride didn't tire you. By the way, what
did you think of my Sagi?"

"Beautiful but dumb, as Janey would say. Quietest place I ever
saw. Why, it was positively silent as a grave."

"Yes. It is a grave. That's why I dig around there so much,"
replied Randolph, with a laugh. Janey remembered that laugh,
though she had heard it very seldom. It was rather rich and
pleasant; and scarcely fitted the character she had given him.
She had two sudden impulses, one to make them aware of her
presence, and another not to do anything of the kind. Second
impulses were mostly the stronger with Janey.

"Randolph, I'm very curious about you. What is there in it for
you--in this grave-digging work, I mean?"

"Oh, it's treasure hunting in a way. I suppose an
archaeologist is born. I seldom think of reward. But, really, if
I discovered the prehistoric ruin I know is buried here somewhere
it would be a big thing for me."

"Any money in it?" inquired the New York businessman.

"Not directly. At least not at once. I suppose articles and
lectures could be translated into money. It would give me
prestige, though."

"Hum. Well, prestige is all right for a young man starting in
life but it doesn't produce much bread and butter. Do you get a
salary, in addition to your remuneration for articles and
lectures?"

"You could call it a salary by courtesy. But besides
bread-and-butter fare of the simplest kind, it wouldn't buy
stockings for a young lady I know," returned Randolph, and again
he laughed, the same nice infectious laugh.

"Now you're talking," responded Endicott, with animation. "The
young lady, of course, being Janey...Randolph, we're getting to
be good friends. Let's be confidential. Did you ever ask my
daughter to marry you?"

"Lord, no!" ejaculated Randolph.

"Well, that's a satisfaction. It's good for a young man to
have individuality. I'm glad you're different from the many...May
I ask--forgive my persistence; the awful responsibility of being
this girl's father, you know--weren't you in love with her?"

There was quite a long silence in which Janey's heart beat
quickly and her ears tingled. She had never really been sure of
Randolph. That, perhaps, was his chief charm.

"Yes, Mr. Endicott," replied the archaeologist, constrainedly.
"I was in love with Janey. Not, however, as those young men were
in the East. But very terribly, deeply in love."

"Fine!...Oh, excuse me, Phillip," rejoined Endicott. "I
mean--that's what I thought. That's why I liked you. These young
lounge lizards play at love. They make me sick. Between you and
me I've a sneaking suspicion they make Janey sick, too...Now,
Phil, here's the vital question. Is all that past tense?"

Janey made the discovery that she was trembling, and imagined
it was from the shame of being an unwitting eavesdropper. How
impossible now to call out! Yet she might have slipped away. But
she did not.

"No. I never got over it. And now it's worse," said Randolph,
not without a tragic note.

"Phil! by heavens, you are a loyal fellow. Would it surprise
you to know I'm pleased?"

"Thank you, Mr. Endicott. But I fear that I'm more than
surprised."

"See here, Phil, you want to be prepared for jars, not only
from Janey, but also me. I'm her Dad, you know...Listen, I
brought Janey out to your desert with barefaced deliberate
intent. To marry her to you and save her from that pack of wolves
back there...Incidentally, of course, to make both of you
happy!"

"My God!" gasped Randolph. He was not the only one who gasped.
Janey in her excitement nearly fell out of the hammock.

"It's an honest fact and I'm not ashamed," went on Endicott,
getting earnest.

"But, Mr. Endicott--you do me honor. You are most wonderfully
kind--but you are quite out of your head."

"Maybe I am. I don't care. I mean it. I love Janey and I'd go
to any extreme to save her. Then I like you immensely. Your
father was my dearest friend in college and until he died. I'd
get a good deal of happiness out of putting a spoke in your wheel
of fortune."

No quick response came, and Janey's heart stood still as she
waited for Randolph's answer. What did that fool think, anyway?
She was getting a little sick with anger and fear when Randolph
burst out: "Endicott, you're crazy. I--I meant--what did you mean
when you said save her?"

"I meant a lot, my boy, and don't overlook it...Tell me
straight, Randolph. This is a serious matter for us all. Do you
think Janey is still a good girl?"

"I wonder whether or not any question is that, in regard to
young women in this age," went on Endicott, soberly. "I gave you
credit for being a brainy clear-eyed fellow, for all your
grave-digging propensity. I saw how you disapproved of Janey--her
friends and habits."

"Yes, I did--deplorably so. But nevertheless--"

"Love is blind, my son," interposed Endicott. "You think more
of Janey than she deserves. All the same I'm glad. That'll help
us out. I regard you as an anchor."

"Mr. Endicott, I--I don't know what to say. I'm
overwhelmed."

"Well, I dare say you've reason to be. But all the same you
listen to me patiently. Will you?"

"Why, certainly."

"You were justified in being shocked at my question about
Janey. But I wouldn't blame anyone for a pretty raw opinion of
modern girls. I have it myself...To be brief, they have gotten
under my skin, if you know what that means. Janey's generation is
beyond my understanding. They have developed something new. They
are eliminating right and wrong. They have no respect for their
parents, and so far as I can see very little affection. They have
a positive hatred for all restraint. They will not stand to be
controlled. They have no faith in our old standards. As a rule
they have no religion. They wear indecent clothes, or I might say
very few clothes at all. They dance all night, drown themselves
in booze, pet and neck indiscriminately, and most of them go the
limit."

"Phil, I'm telling you straight. This is not my theory. I
know. I've got this young crowd figured that far, at least. I
have no patience at all with the fatuous mamas and papas who
claim the young people are all right. They are not all right.
They are a fast crowd and the nation that depends on them and
can't change them is slated for hell. These wise-acres who say
there is no flagrant immorality are far off the track. Those who
claim young women of today are no different from yesterday are
simply blind. They are different, and I don't mean wholly the
emancipation of women since the war. I was always for woman
suffrage...Well, I'm not concerned with the causes, as whether or
not we parents are to blame. I've done my damnedest for Janey and
it hurts to think maybe I've failed. I'm honest in believing I've
not been a bad example for my child. But sometimes Janey makes me
crawl into a dark corner and hide...I'm concerned with the facts
of what I'm telling you. I want to see Janey married to a good
and straight and industrious young man. Janey says he doesn't
exist...Her mother was like Janey, though not so beautiful. She
was willful, intelligent, bewildering. But she had no vices...Now
I take it Janey is about as fascinating as a young woman could
be. Perhaps she is all the more so because of this complexity of
modern times. She knows it. I wouldn't call Janey conceited.
She's not really vain. She's rather a merciless gay modern young
woman who takes pleasure in wading through a mob of men. If she
heard her friends speak of a man who was not likely to fall for
her, as they call it, Janey would yell, 'Lead me to him!' Despite
all this I feel and hope Janey can be saved. Lord, fancy her
hearing me say that! To my mind if she drifts with her crowd
she'll never amount to anything. She would probably divorce one
husband after another. I don't like the idea. Janey's mother left
her something which she will have control of in another year. And
then of course she'll get all I possess, which isn't
inconsiderable. Her prospects then, and her beauty, make her a
mark for the men she comes in contact with, and their name is
legion. I have tried to keep her away from the worst of them. But
it's impossible."

"Why impossible?" broke in Phillip, tersely.

"I gave up because when I'd tell Janey a certain young fellow
was no fit acquaintance for her I would only stimulate interest.
She'd say, 'Dad, you think you know a lot, but I'll have to see
for myself'--and you bet she would."

"Then Janey wouldn't obey you?" asked Randolph.

"Obey!" echoed Endicott, in surprise. "Most certainly she
would not."

"Then indeed you are to blame for what she is."

"Ha! I'd like to see you or anybody else make Janey obey."

"I could and I would," declared Randolph.

"My dear young Arizona archaeologist! May I ask how?" returned
Endicott, not without sarcasm and amusement.

"I'd take that young lady across my knee and spank her
soundly."

"Good Lord! You don't know what you're saying...Why, if I
subjected Janey to such indignity she'd--she'd--well, what
wouldn't she do? Wrecking the place where it happened would be
the least...Yet, oh--how I have wanted to do that same little
thing!"

"Mr. Endicott, your daughter is a spoiled child," asserted
Randolph, in a tone that made Janey want to shriek.

"Spoiled--yes--and everything else," agreed Endicott,
helplessly. "But with it all she is adorable. Have you noticed
that, Phil?"

"Why, come to think of it I believe I have," he answered, with
dry humor.

"Well, we are agreed on a few things, anyway. We can dismiss
her demerits by acknowledging that, and her intelligence,
truthfulness, and other cardinal virtues which she has in common
with all the young people today. It may be that they are too
advanced for us of the older generation to understand. It might
be that something wonderful will come of such a paradox. But I
can't see it, and my problem is to check Janey's mad
career...Ha!--Ha!"

"If I may presume to advise you, Mr. Endicott, you are
undertaking a perfectly impossible task," said Randolph.

"No! Why, Phil, I am sometimes damn fool enough to believe
Janey might do all I ask just because she loves me. I know she
does. But I always put things to her in a way that makes her
furious. So I've quit it...This is my last card--my trump."

There was an absolute blank silence. Janey felt what a shock
this must have been to Randolph. It was no less a shock to
her.

"Now--now I know what's the matter," said Randolph, finally,
in a queer voice.

"What?"

"You really are out of your mind!"

"Well, that may be," returned Endicott, with good humor. "But
I'll stand by my guns. I've sense enough to understand that you
will at first indignantly refuse such a proposition. Won't
you?"

"I certainly do," replied Randolph, bluntly.

"Randolph, no young man who knew and loved Janey could refuse
for any other reason than he thought it preposterous...That she
didn't care two straws for him?"

"Exactly. In my case one straw."

"The only weakness in my proposition is the hope, the dream,
that Janey might love you someday. You must remember I know her
as I knew her mother. Janey, too, is capable of the most
extraordinary things."

"It surely would be that for her to--to--Oh, Endicott, the
idea is ridiculous," returned Randolph, beginning in bitterness
and ending in anger.

"Hear me out. If you don't I'll think you, too, are just like
the rest of this generation...I base my hopes on this. Janey
likes you--respects you. She makes all manner of fun of you, but
underneath it there's something deep. At least it's deep enough
to keep her from adding your scalp to her belt...You'll forgive
me, Phil, for saying that any fancy-free girl would learn to care
for you--under favorable circumstances."

"What are they?" queried the archaeologist.

"Never mind details. But I mean the things that make a man.
I'll swear I don't believe Janey has ever met a real man...Well,
to go on. I save my conscience in this case by believing she
could care for you. And my plan is simply to give Janey a
terrific jar--and then nature, with such a favorable start, will
do the rest."

"Believe me, it would have to be a terrific jar, all right,"
said Randolph, with another of his resonant laughs.

"Believe me, it is. And it's simply this. Be as nice as pie to
Janey. Then at an opportune time just throw her on a horse and
pack her off to one of your ruins in the desert. Kidnap her! Keep
her out there a little while--scare her half to death--let her
know what it is to be uncomfortable, hungry, helpless. Then fetch
her back. She'd have to marry you. I would insist upon it...Then
we'd all be happy."

"Mr. Endicott, the only sane remark you've made is that
epithet you applied to yourself a few moments ago."

"It is a most wonderful opportunity. You are ambitious. This
would make you."

"No."

"I will make you a most substantial settlement. You will be
independent for life. You can follow up your archaeological work
for the love of it. You--"

"No!"

"Now, Phil, I can apply that epithet to you. May I ask why you
refuse?"

"You--I--Oh, hell!...Endicott, it's because I really love
Janey. I couldn't think of myself in such a case. If I did
I'd--I'd be as weak as water...Why, Janey would hate me."

"Don't be so sure of that," replied Endicott, sagely. "You
can't ever tell about a woman. It's a gamble, of course. But you
have the odds. Be a good sport, Phil. Even if you lose you'll
have gained an experience that you'll remember a lifetime."

"Mr. Endicott, you're taking advantage of human nature,"
replied Randolph, with agitation. Janey could hear him pacing the
room, and she felt sorry for him. It pleased her that he had
refused. But she knew her father, his relentless ways, and she
held her breath.

"But man, I can't believe that wonderful girl is going to
hell. I can't."

"Naturally. You're in love with her. To you she's an angel.
All right. Think of it this way then. You admitted she was
adorable. You just said she was wonderful. You know how beautiful
she is. Well, here's your chance to make her yours. Maybe it's a
thousand-to-one shot. Remember, you'll do her good in any case.
And you've that one chance in a thousand. Her mother was the most
loving of women. Why, Phil, if Janey loved you, you would be
entering the kingdom of heaven. She might."

"My--God!" gasped the young man.

"I am her father. I worship her. And I am begging you to do this thing."

"Fact is, I didn't think you would," replied Endicott,
quickly. "And your refusal makes me sure you are the right man.
Come, shake on it, Phil. I'll be forever grateful to you whether
we win or lose."

Janey heard him rise and cross the room. Taking advantage of
this she slipped out of the hammock and ran round to the back of
the house, and entering the long corridor she arrived at her room
in a more excited and breathless state than she had ever been in
all her life. Closing the door she locked it and then relaxed
against it, with a hand over her throbbing breast.

"If that wasn't the limit!" she exclaimed, and succumbed to
conflicting emotions, among which such rage as she had never felt
assumed dominance.

Not long afterward her father knocked on the door. Janey did
not answer. He knocked again, and called anxiously.

"Janey?"

"Yes."

"Dinner is ready. We're waiting."

"I don't want any," she replied.

"Why, what is the matter?"

"I've a headache."

"Headache!...You? Never heard of the like before."

"Maybe it's a toothache."

"Oh!" he returned, and discreetly retired.

When Janey's anger had finally subsided so that she could
think, she found she was deeply wounded. Things for her had come
to a very sad pass indeed, if her father could go to such
extremes. But were they so bad for her? How perfectly absurd!
There was not anything wrong with her. Yet all the same an
awakened consciousness refused to accept her indignant assurance.
She knew she was the pride and joy of her father's life. He was a
trying parent indeed; nevertheless she could not seriously say he
had neglected her or given her a bad example. He was just
thick-headed, and too much concerned about her affairs. Janey,
however, dodged for the present any serious thought concerning
her friends and acquaintances at home. They were as good as any
other crowd.

Randolph! She could overcome her shame and resentment enough
to feel sorry for him. What chance had he against her father,
especially if he was genuinely attracted to her? Janey blushed in
the loneliness of her room. Randolph had saved his character, in
her estimation, by scorning her father's opinions, by resisting
his subtle attack, by refusing any consideration of a material
gain in his outrageous proposals.

Then Janey happened to remember what Randolph had said about
spanking her. In a sudden fury she leaped up and began to pace
the little room. There was not very much in the way of disgust,
contempt, amazement, pride, wrath, that did not pass through her
mind. What an atrocious insult! He had been in earnest. He talked
as if she were a nine-year-old child. Her cheeks burned. She
refused in the heat of the moment to answer a query that knocked
at her ears.

"Oh, I won't do a thing to Phillip Randolph!" she said, under
her breath, and as she said it she caught sight of her face in
the mirror. When had she looked like that? Only the other day she
had fancied she wore a tired bored look. At least she was
indebted to Randolph for a glow and a flash of radiance.

A hundred thoughts whirled through her mind. One of them was
to run off from her father and punish him that way. Another was
to actually be what he feared she was or might become. The former
appeared too easy on him and the second unworthy of her. It stung
her acutely that she was compelled to prove to him how really
different she was. But revenge first! She would show them. She
would play up to their infamous plot. She would walk right into
their little trap. Then--she would frighten her clever parent out
of his wits. And as for Randolph! She would reduce him to such a
state of love-sick misery that he would want to die. She would be
ten thousand times herself and everything else she could lend
herself to. She would help him on with the little scheme, make
him marry her; and then, when he and her father were at the top
of their bent and ridiculously sure of her so-called salvation,
she would calmly announce to them that she had known all about it
beforehand. She would denounce them, and go home and divorce
Randolph.

The next morning Janey saw Randolph and her father ride away
on their horses, evidently well pleased with themselves over
something. Then she went late to her breakfast, finding it
necessary to play the actress with the solicitous Mrs. Bennet.
She would have to be a brilliant actress, anyway, so she might as
well begin. She might develop histrionic ability, and make a name
on the stage.

She did not ride that morning. Part of the time she spent in
her room, and the other walking in the shade of the
cottonwoods.

After lunch Janey tried to read. All the books and magazines
she had appeared to be full of humor or tragedy of the younger
generation. One after another she slammed them on the floor.

"This business is getting damn serious," ejaculated Janey.

All the preachers, editors, physicians, philosophers, were
explaining either how horrible the young people were, or else how
misunderstood, or abandoned by money-mad parents to their dark
fate. Even college boys and girls were writing about themselves.
Something was wrong somewhere; and as the thought struck Janey
she found herself reaching for a cigarette. With swift temper she
threw the little box against the wall. She would have to quit
smoking--which meant nothing at all to Janey. She could quit
anything. She remembered, however, that in accordance with the
plan to revenge herself upon her father and Randolph, she must
smoke like a furnace. So she took the trouble to pick up the
cigarettes. Still, she did not smoke one then.

The afternoon slowly waned. It had been an upsetting day for
Janey. She had changed a hundred times, like the shifting of a
wind vane. But the thing most permanent was the stab to her
pride. Not soon would she get over that hurt. She did not realize
yet just why or how she had been so mortally offended, but she
guessed it would come to her eventually.

For the first time in years Janey missed her mother. Was she
self-sufficient as she had supposed? She certainly was not, for
she fought an hour against rather strange symptoms, and then
succumbed to a good old-fashioned crying spell.

CHAPTER 3

That evening a little before suppertime, when Randolph walked
into the living room, Janey made it a point to be there. She had
adorned herself with a gown calculated to make him gasp. She
perceived that he had difficulty in concealing his dismay. The
day of mental stress, without the usual exercise and contact with
the open, had left her pale with faint finde shadows under her
eyes. Janey thought she could take care of the rest.

"I'm sorry you were indisposed," said Randolph, solicitously.
"I see you haven't been out today. That's too bad."

"It has been a lonely, awful day," replied Janey,
pathetically.

"I hope you haven't been very ill. You looked so--so wonderful
yesterday. You're pale now. No doubt you've overdone this riding
around with the cowboys."

"I guess I'm not so strong as Dad thinks I am. But I'm really
not tired that is, physically."

"No? What's wrong then?"

Janey transfixed Randolph with great melancholy eyes. "I'm
dying of homesickness. This place is dead. It's a ruin. You could
dig right here and find a million bones."

"Dead!...Oh, yes, indeed, it is rather quiet for a girl used
to New York," he returned, plainly disappointed. "I rather
expected you would like it--for a while, and really, you seemed
to be enjoying yourself. I know your father thinks you're having
the time of your life."

"I was. But it didn't last. Nothing happens. I imagined
there'd be some excitement. Why, I can't even get a kick out of a
horse," complained Janey.

"Take care about that," said Randolph, seriously. "Bennet has
seen to it that you've had only gentle horses. I heard him rake
the cowboys about this. None of their tricks!"

"Mr. Randolph," returned Janey, sweetly explaining, "I didn't
mean that kind of a kick. I'd like a horse to run off with
me--since there's no man out here to do it."

Janey was blandly innocent, and apparently unconscious of
Randolph's slight start and quick look. She was going to enjoy
this better than she had expected.

"That a New York girl requires some stimulant," interposed
Janey. "Oh, I get that. These nice dumb cowboys! I thought they
were going to be regular fellows. But, do you know, Mr. Randolph,
not a single one of them has attempted to kiss me!"

"Indeed! From what I know of them I think that'd be the last
thing they'd attempt. They are gentlemen, Miss Endicott," said
Randolph, rather stiffly.

"What's that got to do with kissing a girl?" retorted Janey,
hard put to restrain her laughter. "It'd be fun to see their line
of work. And in the case of that handsome Zoroaster--well, I
might let him get away with it."

Randolph stared at her incredulously, with infinite
disapproval.

"Outside of yourself, Mr. Zoroaster is the only good-looking
man around the place. And as you don't seem to be aware of my
presence here, I'd rather welcome a little attention from
him."

"Miss Endicott!" ejaculated Randolph. "You are
complimentary--and rather otherwise, all in one breath. It is you
who have not been aware of my presence."

"What could you expect?" queried Janey, with a bewildering
confusion. "I might flirt with a cowboy. But I couldn't--well
throw myself at a man of your intelligence and culture. All the
same I've been hoping you'd take me around a little. To your
ruins and interesting places. And maybe amuse me in the evenings,
or at least do something to kill the awful monotony. In New York
you seemed to like me. I daresay Dad has talked about me--queered
me with you."

Randolph had been reduced to a state of speechlessness. He
actually blushed, and there leaped to his eyes a light that made
them very warm and appealing. At this point Mr. Endicott came in.
He looked unusually bright and cheerful, but at sight of Janey
his smile faded.

"Janey, dear, you look sort of down," he commiserated, kissing
her. "I forgot you had a headache or something."

"Dad, I've just been complaining to Phil. But he doesn't care
whether I'm sick or homesick, or what."

"Very well, Father," agreed Janey. She never called him
"Father" except in cases like this. "I've done my best to please
you. The consequences will be upon your head."

Endicott grunted, gave Janey a baffled glance and stepped out
the open door to view the afterglow of the sunset. Randolph was
perturbed. Janey enjoyed the assurance that her new line had been
effective. No man could resist subtle flattery!

"Miss Janey--if you--if I--if there has been a
misunderstanding--let me make it right," began Randolph, with a
sincerity that made Janey feel villainous. "Frankly, I--I didn't
think you cared two straws about my work, or the ruins--or me
either. So I never asked you. You remember I used to try to
interest you in the desert. Indeed there is much here to interest
you--if you will only see. Suppose you ride out with me
tomorrow."

Janey fixed sad eyes upon his earnest face.

"No, Phil. I told you--it's too late. You'd never have thought
of it, if I hadn't gone down and out. I'm sorry, but I can't
accept solicited attention."

"You're very unkind, at least," rejoined Randolph, vexed and
hurt. "You've scarcely looked at me, since your arrival. Now you
complain of my--my neglect. I tell you--to accuse me of
indifference is perfectly ridiculous."

Then the little Indian maid called them to supper. When
Endicott followed them in and caught a glimpse of Randolph's face
he threw up his hands, then he laughed heartily. Janey understood
him. It was a return to good humor and the hopelessness of ever
doing anything with her. His mirth, however, did not infect
Randolph, who scarcely said another word, ate but little, and
soon excused himself.

"Say, honey, what'd you do to Phil?" inquired Endicott,
genially.

"Nothing."

"Which means a whole lot. Well, tell me."

"I let him know I did like him very much that his indifference
has hurt me deeply--and that now--"

"Ah! I see. Now, in the vernacular of your charming crowd
there's nothing doing," interrupted her father. "Janey, dear, if
I were Phil I'd be encouraged. I remember your mother. When I was
most in despair my chances were brightest. Only I didn't know
it."

"Dad, I did like Phil," murmured Janey, dreamily.

"It's too bad you don't any more...What are you going to do
tomorrow?"

"Perhaps I will feel well enough to ride a little."

"Good. I'm motoring to Flagerstown. I'll be back before dark,
I think. I've got important letters and telegrams to send."

"You won't let me wire for Bert Durland?" asked Janey.

"Janey, don't always put me at a disadvantage," returned
Endicott, impatiently. "You know I'd let you have anyone or
anything--if you convinced me of your need. But, darling, you
know Durland would bore you to death. Be honest."

"I suspect he might--after he got here," acknowledged Janey,
demurely. "But, Dad, just think of the fun the cowboys would have
out of him. And he'd make Phil perfectly wild!"

"Aha! You've said it, my daughter," declared Endicott,
clapping his hands. "I had a hunch, as Bennet says...Well, Janey,
you must excuse me. I've got to spend the evening writing. You
can have a nice quiet hour reading."

"Hour! I can't go to bed for hours."

"Janey, you look perfectly wonderful, ravishing--and--well,
indecent in that flimsy white gown. It'd make a first-rate
handkerchief for one of these man-sized Westerners. But it's
wasted on the desert air."

"Yes, I'm afraid my desire to look well for Phil was wasted,"
returned Janey. "Men are no good. You can't please them."

Janey was curious to see if Randolph would come back to the
living room. She hoped he would not, for he appeared to be giving
her a taste of something different in masculine reactions. She
talked to the Bennets about the cowboys and Randolph, learning
more and more for her amusement and interest. They regarded the
archaeologist as one of the family and were immensely proud of
his work. It might have been gold hunting, for all the store they
put on it. Janey began to gather some inkling of the importance
of Randolph's discovery of the pueblo claimed by scientists to
have existed there centuries past. She began to hope for his
success.

Randolph did not appear again and the Bennets retired early.
Janey was left to her thoughts, which she found pleasant. Soon
she went to her room, and to bed. Though she would not admit it
to her father, the quiet of the night, the comfortable feel of
wool blankets, the black darkness appealed strongly to her.

What few words and glances it had taken to upset Phillip
Randolph! If Janey had not been so outraged her conscience might
have given her a twinge. Deep within her dwelt a respect for
honesty and simplicity. The idea she had given Randolph--that she
had expected and hoped for a little attention from him--had
completely floored him. After all it was not much of a deceit.
She had expected more than a little. There was something warm and
sweet in the thought of his really caring for her like that.
Janey believed that no real woman of the present or of the future
would ever feel otherwise than stirred at a man's honest love. It
was in the race, and the race's progress toward higher things
depended upon it. Janey made the mental observation that the
world had not progressed very much lately.

Next morning she again delayed going into breakfast purposely
to miss Randolph and her father. Janey put on her riding clothes,
taking her time about it.

After breakfast the only one of the cowboys around the corrals
was Ray.

"Mornin'," he greeted her. "When did you come back to life? Us
boys figgered you was daid."

"Me? Oh, I never let anybody get tired of me," responded
Janey. "Can I have Patter saddled?"

"I reckon, but I cain't see what for. That cayuse is no good.
He's got a mean eye when he rolls it. Now my little roan--"

"Ray, you boys can't fool me any longer about the horses.
They're all good. Please saddle Patter for me."

While Ray went to fetch the horse Janey walked into the
trading post, always and increasingly interesting to her. Bennet
was selling supplies to the Indians. Janey liked to hear the low
strange voices. One of the Indians was nothing if not frankly
admiring. He was a tall, slim, loose-jointed individual, wearing
corduroys and moccasins, a huge-buckled and silver-ornamented
belt, a garnet-colored velveteen shirt, and a black sombrero with
a bright-braided band. He had a lean face like a hawk, dark and
clear, and piercing black eyes. Janey had been advised not to
appear interested in the Indian men--that they misunderstood it,
and had been known to give Eastern women some rude shocks. As
usual Janey disregarded advice.

She noticed when she left the post that the Indian sauntered
out to watch her. Janey thought if Phil Randolph would act that
way, she would be highly gratified. Patter was saddled waiting
for her, a fine little bay mustang.

"What's Smoky followin' you for?" queried Ray, gruffly.

"Smoky, who's he?"

"Thet blamed Navey."

"Oh, I see. I don't know, Ray. I certainly didn't ask him to.
It's quite flattering, though. But not complimentary to you
boys."

"Wal, Miss, if you excuse me I'll say thet's not funny an' you
ain't ridin' out alone," said Ray.

"Indeed. Ray, you can be most disagreeable at times. It spoils
a perfectly wonderful man. I am going to ride alone."

"Nope. If you won't listen to me I'll tell Bennet."

"Aren't you just inventing an opportunity to ride with
me?"

"Reckon not. I don't care particular aboot ridin' with you,
after the deal you gave me last time."

"What was that, Ray? I forget."

"Wal, never mind...Now this Indian Smoky is a bad hombre an'
it's really because he's not all there. He's not to be trusted.
He might foller you around jes' curious. But if you got too nice
to him things might happen. If he annoys you he'll be a daid
redskin damn quick."

"Thank you, Ray, I'll say that's talking," responded Janey.
"But tell me, what do you do to white men out here, when they
insult Eastern girls?"

"But they do. I've heard and read of lots of things--Suppose
now just for example you were to kidnap me and pack me off into
the desert. What would happen to you?"

"If I didn't get strung up to a cottonwood I'd shore be beat
till I was near daid...But, Miss Janey, you needn't worry none
about me. I've learned to fight my natural instincts."

Janey laughed merrily. Some of these cowboys were full of wit
and humor.

"Ray, I'll compromise this ride with you," said Janey. "I want
to surprise Mr. Randolph at his work. So you take me out and show
me where he is. But you must wait some little distance away--But
won't I be taking you from your own work?"

"Boss's orders are that I look after you, Miss Janey," said
Ray, with emphasis on the personal pronouns. "I'll throw a saddle
an' be heah pronto."

They rode out along the fenced ground, where Bennet kept stock
at times, and came upon Tay-Tay, Diego and Zoroaster digging
postholes. If there was anything a cowboy hated more than that,
Ray declared he did not know what it was. The trio doffed their
sombreros to Janey, and grinned because they could not help it,
but they were galled at the situation.

Zoroaster glared at Ray and threw down the long-handled
shovel. Diego wiped the sweat from his face.

"Say, are you foreman on this ranch?" he asked,
scornfully.

"G-g-g-go along w-w-w-with you or you'll g-get h-h-h-hurt,"
stuttered Tay-Tay.

"Wal, as I don't care to have Miss Endicott see you boys any
wuss than you are now reckon I'll move along," drawled Ray.

Janey gave each in turn a ravishing smile, intended to convey
the impression that she wished he were her escort rather than
Ray. Then she trotted Patter out on the desert after Ray.

They climbed a gradual ascent to the level of the vast valley
and faced the great red wall of rock that loomed a few miles
westward. She rode abreast of Ray for a couple of miles, talking
the while, then, reaching uneven ground, she had to fall behind
on the rough trail. Ray halted at a clump of cedars.

"Reckon this is as far as you'll want me to go," he announced.
"Follow the trail right to where it goes into the canyon. You'll
see a big cave in the wall. That's the old cliff dwellin' where
Mr. Randolph is diggin' around."

"Thank you, Ray. Will you wait for me?"

"Wal, not if you're ridin' back with him," returned Ray,
reluctantly. "But I want to be shore about it."

"I think you'd better wait. I'll not be long."

Janey had not ridden a hundred paces farther before she forgot
all about Ray. The trail led down into a red-walled wash where
muddy water flowed over quicksand, which she had to cross. She
had already crossed this stream at a different point, though not
alone. Here she had to use her own judgment. She made Patter trot
across; even then he floundered in the quicksand and splashed
muddy water all over Janey. Once he went in to his knees and
Janey's heart leaped to her throat. But he plowed out safely. It
was this sort of thing that so excited and pleased Janey. All so
new! And being alone made it tenfold more thrilling. The dusty
trail, the zigzag climb, the winding in and out among rocks and
through the cedars, with the great red wall looming higher and
closer, the dry fragrance of desert and sage, the loneliness and
wildness, meant more to Janey this day than ever before. Not for
anything would she let Phil Randolph and her father into the
secret that she was actually learning to love Arizona. The beauty
and color and solitude, the vastness of it had called to
something deep in her. First she had complained of the dust, the
wind, the emptiness, the absence of people. But she had forgotten
these. She was now not so sure but that she might like the
hardship and primitiveness of the desert.

Presently she rode out of the straggling cedars so that she
could fully see the great wall. Janey threw back her head to gaze
upward.

"Oh--wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I thought the New York
buildings were high. But this!"

It was a sheer red wall, rising with breaks and ledges to a
cedar-fringed rampart high against the blue sky. The base was a
slope of talus, where rocks of every size appeared about to
totter and roll down upon her.

Then Janey discovered the cave. It was the most enormous hole
she had ever seen, and she calculated that Trinity Church would
be lost in it. The upper part disappeared in shadow; the lower
showed a steep slope and ruined rock walls, which Janey guessed
were the remains of the cliff dwellers' homes. She was being
impressed by the weirdness of the scene when she heard a shout
and then spotted a man standing at the foot of the cave. It was
Randolph. He waved to her and began to descend the slide of
weathered rock. As he drew nearer to her level Janey saw that he
had indeed been working. How virile he looked! She quite forgot
the object of her visit; and almost persuaded herself that if he
was particularly nice she would climb up to see him at his
work.

"Howdy, Phil," she called, imitating the trader, as nearly as
possible. It struck Janey then that Phil did not appear overjoyed
to see her.

"Is your father with you?" he asked.

"No. He went to town."

"I hope to goodness you didn't ride up here alone," he
said.

"Sure I did. And a dandy ride it was."

"Janey!" he ejaculated.

"Yes, Janey!" she returned.

He did not grasp any flippancy on her part.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, almost angrily.

"Well, come to think of it I guess I wanted to see you and
your work," she returned, innocently.

"But you've been told not to ride out alone--away from the
post."

"I know I have, and it makes me sick. Why not? I'm not a
child, you know. Besides, there aren't any kidnapers about, are
there?"

"Yes. Kidnapers and worse...Frankly, Miss Endicott, I think
you ought to have a good stiff lecture."

"I'm in a very good humor. So fire away."

"You're a headstrong, willful girl," he declared, bluntly.

"Phillip, you're not very kind, considering that, well--I
relented a little, and rode out here to see you," she replied,
reproachfully.

"I am thinking of you. Somebody has to stop you from taking
these risks. The cowboys let you do anything, though they have
been ordered to watch you, guard you. If your father can't make
you behave somebody else must."

"We're both going to have a wonderful time," said Janey, with
a gay laugh. "But before you break loose on this reforming task
let me confess I came alone only part way. I left Ray back down
the trail at that gully."

"You did! But you told me--you lied--"

"I wanted to see how you would take it," she said, as he
hesitated.

Randolph sat down on a slab of rock and regarded her as one
baffled.

"That's the worst of you," he asserted. "A man can't quite
give you up in despair or disgust. There always seems to be
something wholesome under this damned frivolity of yours."

"I'm glad you are so optimistic," returned Janey.

"No need to ask you how you are feeling," Randolph observed.
"Yesterday you were pale--drooping. Your father was really
worried. And I...But today you look like a sago lily."

"Sago? That's the name of your canyon, isn't it? And what kind
of a flower? Is it pretty?"

"I think it the most exquisite in the world. Rare, rich,
vivid. It blooms in the deep canyons in summer. I daresay you'll
not stay long enough to see one."

"Phil, I never guessed you could be eloquent, or so good at
blarney," she said, studying him gravely. "I'm beginning to
believe there are unknown possibilities in you for good--and
maybe evil, too."

"Sure. You can never tell what a man may do--or be driven
to."

"Aren't you going to ask me to get down and come in?" she
asked, archly.

"You must pardon my manners," he said, rising.

Janey slipped out of the saddle without accepting the hand he
offered, and leading Patter to a near-by cedar she tied the
bridle to a branch.

"I want to see your cave."

"It's pretty much of a climb."

"I suppose yesterday will stump you for some time," she
replied. "Can't I have an off day once in a while without being
considered a weakling? Come on, let's go."

Janey soon found that it was indeed a climb. Distances
deceived her so strangely here in Arizona. There was a trail up
to the cave, but it wound steep and rough, with many high steps
from rock to rock. She was glad to accept Randolph's hand; and
when they surmounted the slope she was breathless and hot.
Randolph held her hand longer than necessary.

"Oh-h--Gee!" panted Janey, flopping down on a rock in the
shade. "Some--climb."

"You made it without a stop," returned Randolph, admiringly.
"Your heart and lungs are sure all right--if your mind is
gone."

"Maybe I am--just a healthy--moron," laughed Janey, removing
her sombrero. "Wouldn't it be fine--if the desert and
you--developed me into a real woman?"

"Morons don't develop," he replied, ignoring her
intimation.

Janey now took stock of the archaeologist's cave. It was an
amazing cavern. She sat at the lower edge of the slope of its
back wall, yet the vaulted roof, far overhead, reached out into
the canyon. A dry, dusty, musty odor, not unpleasant, permeated
the place. The debris from the walls and slopes was red and
yellow. Far up Janey discerned the remains of walls. In the
largest section a small black window, like a vacant eye, stared
down at her. It gave her a queer sensation. Human eyes had gazed
out of that window ages ago. She saw a trench near her, with pick
and shovel lying where Randolph had thrown them.

"Mr. Randolph, were you in the war?" asked Janey,
suddenly.

"Yes, a little while. Long enough to learn to dig. That's
about the only real good the service did me," he replied,
somewhat bitterly.

"You should be grateful. My friends who went to France came
back no good. You certainly seem free of any injury."

"I am, I guess, except a twist in my mind. I only knew of it
recently--last winter in fact."

"Indeed. And how does it affect you?" asked Janey,
doubtfully.

"I think it developed a latent weakness for beauty."

"In nature?"

"Oh, no. I always had that. It must be in--woman."

"Any woman. Well, that is no weakness. It's a very commendable
thing, and gives you a kinship with most men."

"Miss Endicott, I didn't say in any woman," returned Randolph, sharply.

"Didn't you? Very well, it doesn't matter...Now, show me around the place and
tell me all about your work."

Randolph had something on his mind. He did not seem natural.
It was as if he had been compelled to be someone he was not.
Janey half regretted that she had not encouraged him to tell more
about the woman he had a weakness for. So far she was inwardly
elated with the success of her machinations.

"You wouldn't make much of a hit as a guide for lady
tourists," remarked Janey, after Randolph had shown her the
several trenches he had dug, some bits of pottery, dry as powder,
and the ruined walls.

"On the contrary, I was a decided success for the party of
schoolteachers who visited me here last summer," declared
Randolph.

"Oh. Then I have some inhibitory effect upon you," remarked
Janey.

"Probably. I don't seem to care a--er--anything about
archaeology, geology, theology, or any other kind of ology,"
returned Randolph, ruefully.

"I'm sorry. I must not tax your mental powers so severely,"
said Janey.

"You think you're being sarcastic. But as a matter of fact you
have taxed all my powers to the limit. Powers of patience,
resistance, faith--and I don't know what all--"

"What a dreadful person I am!" interposed Janey, really in
earnest. "Please, if you can't forget it, at least you needn't
rub it in...Where do you expect to uncover this buried pueblo?
Dad said you had set your heart on discovering it."

"You don't care two whoops for any ruin--unless it is the ruin
of a man."

"Maybe I didn't at first. But I do now. Can't you credit me
with change or growth or something worth while?"

"I don't know what to think about you," he returned, almost
dejectedly.

"Assuredly you don't. Well, I'm quite capable of coming out
here and finding that ruin for you."

"Please don't. I'm perfectly miserable now," he retorted,
grimly. But there was a light in his eyes that belied his words.
Janey knew he was saying to himself he must not have faith in
dreams.

"It would mean so much to you--finding this pueblo?"

"Yes. There's only one thing that could mean more."

"I don't suppose I'd look very well digging around in this
dirt," mused Janey. "But as you haven't any use for me in
up-to-date evening clothes perhaps you might like me all dusty
and red and hot. So here goes."

Janey began to clamber down into the deepest trench, and when
she got up to her shoulders she grasped the pick.

"Miss Endicott, can't you be serious?" burst out Randolph.
"You're not a bit funny. And that talk about me--"

"I'm serious about making you admire me, at least," laughed
Janey, brandishing the pick.

"Please come out of there. You're just soiling your
clothes."

"Nope. I'm going to dig," rejoined Janey, nonchalantly. "Quien
sabe? I may have to marry an archaeologist someday."

"Come out of there," called Randolph, peremptorily.

Janey began to dig in the red earth. She dragged up stones,
and presently what looked very much like a human bone.

"Ugh! I declare. What's that thing?" ejaculated Janey.

"It's a leg-bone, of course. You're digging in a grave. I told
you that."

"You didn't," retorted Janey.

"Never mind about that. You come out of there."

"Mr. Randolph, you might send me to my own grave, but you
can't make me get out of this one."

As she brandished the pick again he reached down to grasp it.
Janey held on. Randolph slipped his grip down the handle until he
caught her gloved hands. Whereupon he forced the pick from her
and dragged her, not at all gently, up out of the trench.

He let go of her rather abruptly, probably because of the look
she gave him; and Janey's impetus, being considerable, caused her
to stumble. It was a little downhill on that side. She fell right
upon Randolph who caught her in his arms. The awkwardness of her
action made Janey more indignant than ever. Her sombrero fell off
and her hair covered her eyes. She raised her face from his
shoulder and sought to catch her balance. Suddenly, Randolph bent
to kiss her full on the lips.

CHAPTER 4

Janey broke away from Phil and started back. For a moment she
was too conscious of unfamiliar and disturbing agitations to
remember that she had adopted the role of actress.

"Janey!--Miss Endicott!" stammered the young archaeologist.
"I--I didn't mean that. I must have been out of my head. Forgive
me!"

"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Janey. She was not sure yet
what he had done, but it was certainly more than he felt guiltily
conscious of.

"I was beside myself," said Randolph, hurriedly. "You must
believe me. I--I had no such intention. I'm--I'm as--as shocked
as you are...You fell right into my arms. And I--I did it
involuntarily."

"You may tell that to the marines," replied Janey, recovering,
and getting back to the business of her part.

"You won't believe me?" he demanded, getting red in the
face.

"Certainly not," returned Janey, coldly, as she smoothed her
disheveled hair. "I wouldn't put it beyond you to treat every
girl that way--especially if she was fool enough to visit you
alone out here."

He glared at her in mingled wrath and distress.

"I never kissed a girl before!" he asserted, stoutly.

"Well!" exclaimed Janey, in simulated contemptuous doubt, when
really she was thrilled with what seemed the truth in his eye and
voice. "You must have a poor opinion of my intelligence. If you
had come out like a man and told me straight that you couldn't
resist such an opportunity and were glad of it, I might have
forgiven you. It's nothing to be kissed. But you've pretended to
be so self-righteous. You've scorned my young men friends. You've
deceived me into thinking highly of you--respecting you. And I
honestly believe I did like you...Now I'm quite sure I ought
never ride out alone."

Randolph groaned. Then he leaped into the trench and seizing
the pick he began to dig with great violence, making the stones
fly and the dust rise. Janey spoke again, but either he did not
or would not hear her. Whereupon she recovered her sombrero and
turned to find her way down the slope. She had just reached the
rough part, and was searching for the trail when she heard
Randolph behind her.

Janey started down, aware that he followed closely. She was
glad she had her face turned away from him. When she got to the
broken sections of rock she performed apparent feats of balancing
which would have put a tightrope walker to shame. She would sway
this way and that, and almost fall. Then she leaped the fissures,
and took some chances of hurting herself. But she descended the
jumble of rocks safely, and then the rest of the slope with ease.
Randolph had halted about a third of the way from the bottom, and
when Janey looked over the saddle of her horse she saw him
sitting on a stone, watching her.

"Good-by, wild woman," he called.

"Good-by, cave man," she retorted.

Mounting she rode away without looking back, which was an act
that required will power. Once in the cedars, out of sight and
alone, she reveled in the unexpected turn and success of her
venture. Randolph was simply an honest boy, very much in love,
and at the mercy of his feelings. He had helped along her little
plan by placing himself at a disadvantage. How astounded he had
been, then furious at himself and her! Janey remembered that he
had winced when he said it was nothing to be kissed. Well, she
had lied in that. It was a great deal to be kissed, as she began
to realize now. She had chosen to lead him to believe kissing was
merely a casual and familiar thing in her young life, when in
reality she had not been nearly as indiscriminate in her games as
she had let on.

Janey believed she was angrier than ever with Randolph, a
great deal more so now than at her father. Yet there was a
tempering voice she would not listen to. It was piercing her
armor to some extent when she rode right upon Ray, so abruptly
that she was surprised. That ended her meditations, for Ray
appeared curious and keen about her visit to the archaeologist.
It did not occur to Janey to tantalize Ray, or to stop and
torment the cowboys at their fencepost digging. By the time she
was again at ease in her room she realized the cowboys had begun
to fade out of the picture. Janey did not regret it, though she
wondered at herself. Naturally, however, if a girl was going to
be abducted against her will, and maltreated, and finally
married, she must be quite interested in the man who was daring
to do all this.

At lunch she was outspoken about her visit to Randolph's cave.
The Bennets were much pleased. Plain indeed was it that they were
fond of Randolph and proud of his archaeological work.

"Wal, if you liked that Sagi hole you shore ought to see
Beckyshibeta," remarked Bennet.

"Beckyshibeta! My, that's a jawbreaker," replied Janey, with a
laugh. "What and where is it?"

"Beckyshibeta means cow water. It's Navajo for a water hole. I
never saw it when it wasn't muddy an' shore tastin' of cows.
Reckon it's about sixty miles by trail, nearer across country.
Wild rocky place where the Indians seldom go. Phil thinks they've
a reason for avoiding it, same as in the case of Nonnezoshe, the
great Rainbow Bridge. He has a notion there might be a buried
pueblo at Beckyshibeta. There are cliff dwellin's still in good
state of preservation, an' many ruins. We seldom recommend
Beckyshibeta to our visitors. It's far off. The cowboys hate the
rocky country because they have to pack hoss feed and water. An'
shore there are places interestin' enough near at hand, an'
comfortable for camp. But before you an' your father leave you
want to see both Nonnezoshe an' Beckyshibeta."

"I'm sure I'd love to," responded Janey.

She did not meet the cowboys again that day until after supper
when she walked out to see the sunset, and to look for her
father. This was always an attractive hour at the post. Indians
were riding up and departing; the picturesque cowboys, mostly
through with work for the day, were lounging about on the bales
of wool and blankets. The moment Janey arrived they became
animated as one man. Janey did not take much notice of them,
despite their transparent acts and words. Strolling a little way
she halted at the hitching rail to watch the pageant in the
gold-and-purple west.

"Mighty cool evenin'," remarked Mohave, in a voice that came
clearly to Janey.

"Say, fellars, did anythin' hit you in the eye, kinda like a
chunk of ice?" drawled Zoroaster.

"Aw, you punchers are locoed," added Ray, scornfully. "Cain't
you tell when to get off and walk?"

Janey moved on out of earshot of her loyal cavaliers. It was
the first time she had not paid attention to one or all of them.
What had happened to her? But she soothed both conscience and
concern with former arguments.

In the west the bulge of desert waved black as ebony against
the intense gold flare of sky. Above this belt, a broken reef of
purple clouds appeared beaten upon by contending tides of silver
and rose. Through a ragged rent the sinking sun sent shafts of
radiant light down behind the horizon.

In the east the panorama was no less striking and beautiful.
The desert sent its walls and domes and monuments of red rock far
up into the sky of gorgeous pink and white clouds.

Janey drew a deep full breath. Yes, Arizona was awakening her
to something splendid and compelling. How vast and free and
windswept this colored desert! She had learned to recognize a
faint fragrance of sage, which came only in a north breeze. It
was sweet and cool now in her face. Then up over a near-by ridge
appeared a black silhouette of an Indian and mustang, wild and
lonely. Next the hum of a motorcar broke her absorption. No doubt
it was the trader's Studebaker returning with her father.

"Look here, peaches," quizzically remarked her father, when
they had gotten indoors. "Anyone would think I'd been absent a
month. What's the bright idea?"

"Oh! Did I make such a fuss over you--as that?" asked Janey,
merrily.

"You sure did. Fact is you never welcomed me like that, even
on my returns from Europe...Have you been lonely and blue again?
Is that why?"

"Not today," returned Janey. "No, I was just happy and
unconscious of it, Dad...I guess maybe I did miss you a lot."

"Well, you can bet I'm glad, whatever it is."

Janey left him in the dining room, too hungry for
conversation. Then she delved a little into her mind. She had
absolutely forgotten her new role. She was supposed to be very
angry with her father, but she wasn't. She had not been in the
least lonely for him or homesick. In reality she had skipped
about ten years of her life and had met him as a child. Janey's
deductions took her back through the eventful day at the tilt
with Phil, and then she got no further. It was rather confusing.
But at length she assuaged her wounded vanity by accepting her
remarkable fine spirits as due to the way she was turning the
tables on Phil and her father.

"Maybe I'm kidding myself," murmured Janey, with a snicker.
"Ye Gods! Could I have been so happy because he kissed me?"

Janey was wholly at ease again when her father joined her in
the living room. He was full of his trip to town, and claimed the
ride in--looking the opposite way to that in which they had
come--was even more beautiful. Telegraph communications from New
York had been eminently satisfactory.

"How's your day been?" he asked, when he had concluded about
his own.

"Mine? Oh, rich, immense," replied Janey. "I hope you haven't
played any more hob with these cowboys."

"Oh, dear, no. I've scarcely seen them, but once or twice...I
did take Ray, and rode out to see Phil's cave. Surprised him. I
left Ray below a little way and went on alone."

"You did!" exclaimed Endicott, surprised and pleased. "That
was nice of you. What did you think of Phil's cave? I've been
there, you know."

"An awful hole! Just suits him to a 'T.' He's a cave man.
Don't you overlook that, darling Papa."

"Did you quarrel?" Endicott probed, his curiosity overcoming
his doubt of her.

"Oh, we scrapped as usual. He wasn't at all tickled to see me.
Made some idiotic remarks about being a lover of beauty in
woman--one woman. Naturally I kidded him, and when he got wise to
that he was sore. Well, finally, to prove my interest in his old
cave I climbed down in one of his graves. I took the pick and
began to dig. Do you know, Dad, he didn't like that a bit."

Endicott let out a hearty laugh. "Janey, you are incorrigible.
No wonder he wasn't tickled to see you. Why, he wouldn't let even
me dig in one of those holes. Said I might break a piece of
precious pottery. Besides in your case he wouldn't like you to
soil your clothes and blister your hands."

"I should think he would have liked that," returned Janey.
"Once he called me fastidious and elegant. Another time one of
the idle rich. He held my hand once and had the nerve to say it
was a beautiful useless thing. Well, to go on, he ordered me out
of the grave. I paid no attention to him. Then he took hold of
the pick, pulled me up till he could reach me. Next he yanked me
out. Gentle? You should have seen him. But he let go of me too
quick and I stumbled. Like a ninny I fell into his arms. Did he
gently set me upon my feet? I should snicker not. This paragon of
yours, this nice quiet gentleman, grabbed me and kissed me smack
on my mouth--as I never was kissed in my whole life!"

Whereupon Janey's father exploded with mirth. Recovering and
seeing her face he apologized contritely.

"Janey, it's just too good," he added. "I think a lot more of
Phil for having the nerve to do it. I wonder, now, did that make
you so happy?"

"Rot!" exclaimed Janey, with hot cheeks. "It wasn't nerve in
him. He just went loco. Then he swore he'd never kissed any girl
before. Fancy that?...Well, I've told you. I don't quite know
what to do about it."

"I shall congratulate Phil on punishing you properly."

"I don't take punishment easily," said Janey, with menacing
hauteur.

"Lord. Be easy on the poor chap, Janey."

Bennet interrupted them at this point and asked if they would
require any or all of the cowboys for any especial trip the next
few days.

"I want to drive some cattle out, an' reckon this is about the
best time," he added. "I've got some tourist parties comin' soon,
an' the boys will take them to Nonnezoshe. After that the rains
will be here."

"Thanks, Bennet. We can do very well without the cowboys,"
returned Endicott, brightly. Janey guessed why her father felt so
chipper about that news.

"Do you have a rainy season here on this desert?" inquired
Janey, aghast.

"Nothin' to concern you, Miss," replied the trader. "Reckon
you'll like the thunderstorms, the clouds an' rainbows. But for
us the rains are sometimes bad, because the washes get full of
water an' quicksand, so we can't move the stock."

"Thunderstorms? I love them. It will be great to be out in one
here," said Janey.

Janey was lying in bed reading when she heard Randolph come in
and go to his room. The hour was rather late for him. She
wondered if he had gone supperless.

Next morning when she went in to breakfast her father and
Randolph were there. If Janey had expected him to be downcast or
embarrassed she had reckoned without her host. He was neither. He
greeted her as if nothing unusual had occurred and he gave her a
cool steady stare. Janey's quick intuition grasped that Randolph
had burned his bridges behind him. It did not seem likely that
her father could have had much to do with this late decision in
Randolph. Janey had bidden him good night at his door, and he was
not an early riser. So she concluded Randolph had fought out
something with himself and the die was cast. It stirred Janey as
had nothing she could recall. She was ready, even eager for the
adventure.

"When is Bennet sending out the cowboys?" inquired
Randolph.

"Today," replied Endicott, with a meaning glance at his young
friend. "It'll be terrible for Janey to be left without anybody
to pick on. Phil, suppose you knock off work and stay home to
amuse her."

"Very happy to," returned the archaeologist. "I'm sure I can
think up something that will amuse even the blasé Miss
Endicott."

"You needn't concern yourself about me," said Janey,
spiritedly. "And I'll have you know I'm not blasé. Did you
ever see me look old or bored?"

"Certainly not old, but bored--yes indeed, and with your
humble servant, myself."

"Much obliged," rejoined Randolph, with nonchalance. "I hope I
can live up to your idea of my development."

"When will you start amusing me?" asked Janey, with a
provoking little smile.

"There's no time like the present."

"Very well, begin. You have only to be perfectly natural."

"That is what I thought. So I need not exert myself. After
breakfast come with me for a walk. I know where to find some
horned toads."

"How far is it?"

"Quite near. In the big wash over the ridge. But I advise you
to change that child's dress for something comfortable and
protecting."

"Goodness! This is a tennis skirt and blouse."

"Who'd guess it," returned Randolph, dryly. "Be ready in about
an hour."

Janey went to her room. Phillip had been quite businesslike.
She had fancied he would take her for a long ride someday, which
would give him better opportunity to make off with her. Surely he
would not attempt the abduction while on a short stroll near the
post. But she felt uncertain about him. She had best be prepared.
To this end she considered what it would be best to wear. If she
donned riding clothes and boots, which she heartily wanted to do,
it would rouse Randolph's suspicions. Outside of that all her
clothes were unsuitable for the kind of a jaunt she was likely to
have. She gave Randolph about one day and one night before
fetching her back to the post. That, however, was long enough for
his purpose, though she remembered her father hinting otherwise.
Janey searched among her things, and finally found an old woolen
outing skirt, absurdly short. It would have to do. She selected
the heaviest stockings she could find, which were thin at that,
tennis shoes, a blouse with high collar and long sleeves. She put
on a soft felt hat and gloves. Then as an afterthought she
slipped a vanity case into the pocket of her short sport coat,
and tried to choose the things she would need badly, in case she
were kidnaped. But pocket space was limited. Thus equipped, and
full of suppressed mirth, yet not free from other agitation, she
sallied forth to meet Mr. Randolph.

Janey knew she had occupied more than an hour, but she was
surprised to find he was not waiting for her. Nor was her father
anywhere in sight. "Something's up I'll bet," soliloquized Janey.
She went out to see the cowboys ride away with Bennet. They were
a disconsolate lot, and gazed at her from afar.

Upon her return to the house she met Randolph. His boots were
dusty, and his face heated from exertion. He looked too grim and
tense for a little walk. Unless he meant to propose to her! Or
else carry out her father's plan. Janey knew it was one or the
other; and she trembled. But Phil seemed too concerned with
himself to note that she was not wholly at ease. And in another
instant Janey regained composure.

"Here you are," he said, as he met her. "Glad you're a little
more sensibly dressed."

"I thought maybe you'd have me digging round in the sand after
horned toads," she replied.

"Daresay you'll be digging round for more than that before we
get back."

He led her out the side exit of the yard, where the foliage of
peach trees and the house obscured their departure from anyone
who might have been looking from the post.

"Horned toads are really one of the wonders of the desert," he
said, as he walked briskly out toward the rise of ground. "They
have protective coloration. It is very difficult to see them.
They are beautiful, with eyes like jewels. At rare times when
angry one will emit blood from its eyes."

While he talked he was leading Janey up the ridge. Then in a
few moments they were over and going down on the other side, out
of sight of the post. He talked horned toads until he had
exhausted his fund of natural history, then he switched to desert
scenery. Janey knew he was only marking time, endeavoring to
absorb her so that she would scarcely notice the distance they
had come and that it was still far to any break in the floor of
the desert. She helped him by listening intently. It was a full
ten miles to the wash.

"Phil, didn't you say it was only a little walk?" she asked,
innocently.

"Why, yes. Isn't it?"

"If you'd ask me I'd say it was long. Where do we go from
here?" returned Janey, gazing down into the sandy void. There was
no trail she could see, though in the sand just below she
discerned horse tracks. Randolph jumped down off the bank to the
slope, which was several feet under the level.

"Come," he said, and Janey detected a slight change of
tone.

"Gee. I can't get down there," she replied, fearfully.

"If you won't let me lift you down, why, slide."

"Slide!--Mr. Randolph, I'm not a baseball player."

Quick as a flash, then, he reached for her, clasped her knees
and lifted her so that she fell over his shoulder.

"Oh!" cried Janey, in genuine surprise. How powerful he was!
She might have been a sack of potatoes. He carried her several
strides down before Janey began to protest and squirm. She would
have kicked if her legs had been free. At any rate her struggle
and the steep soft slope of sand caused Randolph to lose his
balance and fall sidewise. Janey rolled off his shoulder and sat
up. Randolph stumbled to his feet, and seeing her sitting there
wide-eyed and blank he burst into laughter. Janey could not help
following suit.

"Mr. Randolph, is this how you hunt horned toads?" she asked
sternly.

"No. But why did you overbalance me? I could have packed you
down to the bottom."

"My position was scarcely dignified. In the future if it is
necessary to pack me, as you call it, please give me a moment to
prepare."

"All right. Come on. Let's see if you're any good on
seven-league boots," he said, and strode down with giant
steps.

Janey tried to imitate him, succeeded admirably, and reached
the bottom of the wash in good time.

"My shoes are full of sand," she announced, and sat down to
remove them.

"Don't let a little thing like that fuss you. It may happen
again."

"You're quite gay, all of a sudden," remarked Janey, as she
shook the sand out of her shoes.

"Yes. Why not? It's something to see Miss Janey Endicott as
she is this morning," he responded, eying her with a glint of
admiration.

"I suppose you mean me in this short skirt," she returned,
calmly. "But you needn't look. It was the only old thing I
had."

Soon she was following him down the wash. It appeared to be
quite deep, with a dry stream bed of rock and gravel at the
bottom. Desert plants grew sparsely along the banks. Randolph did
not look back nor speak, and he walked a little too swiftly for
Janey who lost a few paces. Presently they turned a corner, and
Janey spotted what she had been expecting--two saddled horses.
Later she saw another animal carrying a pack.

Janey plodded on, pretending not to see them. How foolish!
Nevertheless she was aware of a palpitating heart, of a rush of
blood, of prickling skin. A quick glance up showed Randolph had
halted beside the horses. Janey strove to find wits and nerve to
meet this situation as she had planned. Where was her anger? It
had oozed out of her trembling finger tips. But that was only
momentary. Sight of Randolph rallied her courage. She would
deceive him, punish him and her father if it took all the spirit
and endurance she could muster.

"Whose horses?" asked Janey, as she reached Randolph, and sat
down on the slope of sand. She did not look at him directly.
"It's pretty warm--for a short walk. When do we hunt horned
toads?"

As he did not answer she glanced up at him. Assuredly he was
tense and altogether too pale. Janey suddenly realized that
despite what he had undertaken he was afraid of her and of the
outrageous indignity he had been persuaded to attempt. That acted
as a spur to her. It was the stimulus she needed.

"What's the matter, Phil? You look strange. Your eyes! You're
staring at me. It's the second time. I can't complain of lack of
attention right now."

"Mr. Randolph!" she exclaimed, coldly. That was the crucial
moment for Phillip Randolph. His face paled.

"Are you drunk or mad?" she added, icily.

"Both! Drunk with your beauty--mad for love of you," he
replied, hoarsely.

"It would seem so," said Janey. She turned her back upon him
and started to walk away. Then he seized her by the shoulders,
whirled her round and forced her back to the shade.

"If you run it'll only be the worse for you," he warned,
releasing her.

"You beast!" cried Janey, wheeling. "Let me go."

Randolph confronted her, and when she tried to get by he put
his hands on her shoulders and gave her a good hard shove. Janey
staggered backward. The sand was soft and deep. She lost her
balance and suddenly fell on the slope, thus losing coat and
sombrero. This was most undignified. Yet Janey wanted to laugh.
She sat there, blazing up at him, in a gathering might of
wrath.

"Beast or anything you like," said Randolph, darkly. "But you
go with me, if I have to throw you on that horse."

"Father will beat you for this."

"No doubt. But it will be too late."

"And the cowboys will do worse."

"Yes. But I shall have queered you with them."

Janey got to her feet and stepped close to Randolph. There was
now a dangerous gleam in his eye--a wild dark light. He had
gotten by the most difficult part for him--the announcement of
his intention. Janey saw that he did not expect any serious
trouble with her. How she would fool him!

"Don't you dare lay a hand on me again," she said,
passionately.

"I hope it won't be necessary. But you get on this horse."

"No!"

"I tell you--"

Janey rushed to pass him, yet was not quick enough. He caught
her arm. As he swung her around she gave him a terrific slap on
the side of the face. Randolph dropped her arm. His hand went to
his cheek which was as red as fire. It seemed realization was
upon him, augmenting shame and fury. Janey realized that but for
her blow he might have betrayed himself and given up this
outrageous affair.

"You--you struck me," he said, hoarsely, and suddenly snatched
out and caught her left arm.

"Sure I did, Mr. Hoodlum," rejoined Janey. "And I'll do it
again. Did you think you'd get away with this so easy? There!"
And she struck him quick and hard, this time with a tight little
fist.

"Wildcat!" shouted Randolph, roused to battle, and then he
closed with her. Janey was strong, lithe, supple as a panther,
and she fought him fiercely. It was no longer pretense. The rough
contact of his hands and her own violent action brought her blood
up, gushing and hot. He was endeavoring to subdue her and she was
struggling to get away. At the same time she beat and tore at him
with all her might. She scratched his face. She got both hands in
his hair and pulled. Naturally the fight could not last long, for
he was overpowering her. When he got his left arm under her right
and around her waist to grasp her left he had her nearly
helpless. Then he put his other arm under her knees and lifted
her.

His hair stood up like the mane of a lion; his face was bloody
from the scratches; his eyes gleamed with fire.

"My God!" he panted. "Who'd have--thought it in you."

"Let me down!" cried Janey, straining and writhing.

"Will you get--on that horse?"

"No--you wild-west boob!"

"Boob?--Ha! Ha! You've hit it," he replied, wildly. "Very
well--my Eastern princess--take this from the Western boob." He
bent his head and kissed her quickly then again, crushing his hot
lips on hers.

"I'll--kill--you!" gasped Janey, when she could speak.

"Kill and be damned. I wish you would," he returned,
passionately. Then he surrendered to the contact and possession
of her. Clasping her tight he rained kisses on her lips and neck.
Janey felt the wet blood from his scratched face on her cheek.
Her muscles grew rigid. She was like bent steel about to spring.
Suddenly she sank limp. His passion had overcome her where his
strength had failed. But Janey did not lose her wits. It was as
if she knew she had to keep playing her part. Yet her collapse
and the shaking of her relaxed body had nothing to do with
reasoning. He had surprised her into the primitiveness of a
savage. The change in her reaction struck him, and he released
her.

Janey slipped down, as it chanced, to her knees. The thing
could not have happened better.

"I--I--understand now," gasped Janey. "You mean--to--"

"My God!" cried Randolph, staggering back, in horror.

"Phillip," went on Janey, piteously. "I--I'm not the girl
I--I've made you believe. This is as much--my fault--as yours.
But have mercy. Don't be a brute."

"Shut up!" shouted Randolph, his face changing to a dusky
red.

He backed against a stone and sat down, to cover his face with
his hands, deeply and terribly shaken.

Janey sank back herself, to rest a moment, and to straighten
her disheveled apparel. Her rage had died a sudden death. She was
still conscious of disturbing unfamiliar sensations, which,
however, were gradually subsiding. Much had happened that had not
been down on the program. She realized that Randolph had not
intended even the least insult, let alone the assault on her. And
certainly in her plan Janey had not dreamed of making him think
she believed him capable of more. Even at that troubled moment
Janey realized that more could come of this incident than had
been expected. Both of them were trifling with deep and unknown
instincts. They might pass from jest to earnest. But Randolph had
not the slightest inkling of Janey's duplicity.

"You've blood on your face," said Randolph, suddenly.

"Yes, it's yours. If I had my way I'd have your blood on my
hands," returned Janey, murderously.

"Wipe it off," he ordered, getting up.

Janey produced a wisp of a handkerchief. "Where is it?" she asked.

"On your cheek--the left one. Here, let me rub it off. That
inch-square rag is no good." He had a silk scarf, which he used
to remove the blood from her cheek. He applied considerable
force, and his action was that of a man trying to remove a stain
of guilt.

"You scratched me like--like a wildcat," he said, harshly.

"Did you expect me to purr?" she returned, with sarcasm. Then
she rose to her feet. "You tore my sleeve half off. I hope you
happen to have a needle and thread."

Ignoring her facetiousness he picked up her coat and sombrero,
and handed them to her.

"Get on that horse," he ordered.

CHAPTER 5

Without comment and as one subdued Janey went up to the horse
and mounted. Her skirt slipped halfway above her knees. She stood
in the stirrups and pulled it down, but at best it was so short
that it exposed several inches of bare skin above her
stockings.

"Is this supposed to be a movie or a leg show?" she asked,
bitingly.

"I can't help it if you've no decent clothes," he replied.

"Why didn't you suggest I wear my riding clothes?"

"I didn't think of that. But you'd have suspected
something."

"Me? No. I'm much too stupid. If I had been capable of
thinking I'd have known you were a villain...To force a girl to
ride a horse with her dress--this way!"

"I don't care how you look," he flashed, hotly, stung at her
retort. "At that you don't look much worse than usual."

He picked up Janey's coat, which she had dropped, and hung it
on the pommel, and draped it over her knees.

"That'll keep you from sunburn, at least."

"You're very thoughtful and kind, Mr. Randolph," said Janey,
sweetly. "And may I inquire our destination?"

"Start up the wash," he rejoined, gruffly. "You take the
lead."

"Want to watch me, eh? You think I might run off? I note
you've given me a plug of a horse that probably never ran in its
life."

"You might do anything, Miss Endicott," he said.

"What wonderful trust you have in me!" exclaimed Janey.

Whereupon she rode on up the deepening gully. Randolph
followed her, leading the pack horse.

So the great adventure was actually on! Janey could not have
believed it but for the bruises she had sustained in the fight
with Randolph, and her torn blouse, and this ridiculous skirt
that had begun to have resemblance to a ballet dancer's.

After she had taken stock of her physical state she delved a
bit into the mental. She found she was still trembling ever so
slightly. Her heart beat high. And her mind was racing. She was
stirred by bitterness toward her father, and resentment toward
this man who had been led to believe she was no good and needed
this kind of a lesson. They thought they had her number, mused
Janey, defiantly. Pretty but vain! Intelligent, yet too
languorous to think or work! Adorable, though probably immoral!
Modern, still there were hopes!

An alarming thought struck her which she had experienced
vaguely before. It was barely possible that these accusations
were justified. Janey swore, and refused to listen to such a
treacherous voice.

Something more pleasant to dwell upon was a genuine pity for
Randolph. He had been a perfectly straightforward, fine and
promising young man until he met her father. He was now in line
to become a first-rate villain. No doubt when Janey finally
divorced him there would be no hope whatever. She decided, in
order to make it impossible that he ever could recover, she would
delay the divorce proceeding for a time--and meanwhile be very
sweet and sorrowful and might-have-been-loving to him, so that he
would be abjectly crushed.

Her meditations on this phase of the experience were decidedly
pleasant. And it was most agreeable to be on horseback again. She
had been rather unjust to the horse, for he was turning out to be
docile, easy-gaited and willing. He had struck into a trail which
wound up the gorge.

The walls were perceptibly higher and changing their character
somewhat. The sand slopes were disappearing. Presently this wash
turned at right angles and opened into a canyon. It was deep,
yellow-walled, and rugged, and through the center of it meandered
a thin stream of water. Janey believed this creek was the Sagi,
which she had crossed a number of times above. But she had not
seen this canyon. The very sight of it was exciting and
disturbing. There was sure to be quicksand. Janey hoped she would
have some narrow escapes, so that she would find out what
Randolph was made of. If no risks came along naturally she would
make some.

The sand in the creek bed, however, was disappointingly solid.
In the next hour Janey crossed this water a dozen or more times,
without a mishap. Her horse was a much better judge of places
than she. Meanwhile the canyon grew wider and deeper.

It also grew hot. Janey began to feel the burn of the sun. And
as the movement of the horse often jolted her coat from its
protective service her knees began to get red. This was a
novelty, and she was divided between concern and a satisfaction
that she could presently show Randolph more objective proofs of
his cruelty.

Unobtrusively, at moments when the trail made a short turn,
she saw Randolph in the rear. He did not look in the least like a
bold bad man. He drooped. Apparently he did not see her, let
alone watch closely against any attempt she might make to escape.
Perhaps he was disgusted now and hoped she would run off. This
was embarrassing. Janey did not want to escape. She was getting a
tremendous kick out of being kidnaped. But she would not let him
know that. She considered the advisability of attempting to get
away. It did not strike her favorably. If Randolph did not or
would not catch her, there would be something of a different
predicament. She would be lost, unless she could go back as they
had come.

Janey rejected the idea. Too much risk! And she adopted
another, equally feminine, and very much better. When a turn of
the trail hid her from Randolph's sight she selected a soft place
in the sand and slid off her horse, careful to make it look as if
she had fallen.

Presently she heard the hoofs of Randolph's horse padding
closer. Then Janey made herself look as much like a limp sack as
she could. From under the brim of her sombrero she saw him come
into sight. He gave a violent start. Leaping out of the saddle he
ran to her. His action, his look were unaccountably sweet to
Janey. It was hard to close her eyes.

Evidently he stopped to gaze down upon her a moment, for there
was a silence, then he knelt to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, what's the matter?" he inquired, with more doubt than
sympathy.

Janey stirred and sat up.

"I fell off my horse," she said.

"What for?"

"Guess I got dizzy or something. You must have hurt me
internally. Or I wrenched my side--anyway I had a terrible
pain."

"That's too bad. I'm sorry. I never calculated on any
weakness, physical or mental." He was studying her face with deep
inscrutable eyes, and despite his words he was not
sympathetic.

"Yes, I observed how weak you were--physically," he said. "You
could probably throw me in a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match.
And when you hit me on my nose--with your fist--well, you came
very near being alone for a while."

Janey gave him a searching look. "Will you take me back to the
post?"

"Certainly not."

"But if I'm hurt or ill."

"You're going to Beckyshibeta in any event."

"Beckyshibeta? Why, that's a long way, you told me."

"Sure. It's far away, and lonely too, believe me. No one will
find us there."

"How long do we--do you mean to keep me prisoner there?"

"I have no idea how long it will take for you to change--or
die."

"Oh!...Very well, you can bury me at Beckyshibeta," concluded
Janey, getting up wearily.

She refused his proffered assistance, and made a fine effort
at mounting, as if some of her bones were broken. And she rode
on, thinking that the weak-sister stuff would not work with Phil
Randolph. She must slowly recover her strength and become a
veritable amazon. Perhaps some accident would occur that might be
calculated to frighten even her, though she could not imagine
what it could be. Then she would try the clinging vine. Even Phil
Randolph would fall for that. But it must be something over which
a modern girl could safely lose her nerve. A terrible storm or a
flood! Janey prayed for both. Phil Randolph must be reduced to a
state of perfect misery.

Janey rode on, gradually recovering her poise in the saddle.
The canyon opened wide, with the walls far away. There were flats
of green grass and cedar groves to cross. In one place she saw
several deserted hogans. Indians had lived there. She had a
desire to peep in at the dark door, facing the east.

The trail came to a point where it forked. Janey waited for
Randolph to come up.

"Which way, Sir Geraint?" she inquired.

"Left," he said. "And I don't think you're a bit like Enid.
She was meek. Besides she was Geraint's wife."

"Well, Geraint drove Enid ahead, so she would encounter all
the risks and dangers first. No doubt the similarity of our ride
to theirs ends right there."

"The only danger here, Miss Endicott, is the one I'm
incurring. And it's too late to avoid that."

Danger! What did he mean? Perhaps the wrath of the cowboys,
for it was certain they could not have been let into the secret.
How would they take this stunt of Randolph's? Janey began to
wonder why she had not thought of that before. True, they had
ridden away with a herd of cattle, but they must return sooner or
later, and find out. Here was a factor her father had not
considered. Even if he did have to tell them she knew the
cowboys, especially Ray, would not stand for it. On the other
hand, perhaps Randolph had meant the danger to be love of her.
And he had said it was too late to avoid it. She was very glad,
and if it were actually true she would see to it that he suffered
more and more.

They took the left-hand fork of the trail and entered an
interesting canyon, which narrowed until the crumbling walls
seemed ready to tumble down upon her. Soon the trail became so
rough that Janey had to pay heed to it and have a care for her
horse. The ascent increased until it was steeper than any Janey
had ridden. As she climbed, the trail took to a zigzag course up
the slope and often she could look directly down upon Randolph,
who was not having the best of luck with the pack animal.

Presently it took Janey's breath to gaze down and she quit it.
The trail sometimes led along a ledge so narrow that she wondered
how the horse could stick to it. But he never made a misstep or a
slip, and appeared unconcerned about the heights. Janey
christened him Surefoot.

At last the trail led up to a level again, from which Janey
gazed back and down at the red slope, the huge rocks, the slides
of weathered stone, the cedars, and the winding dry stream bed at
the bottom. Janey had to look awhile to locate Randolph. It was
no trail for a pack horse, or rather the horse was not one for
such a narrow steep obstructed trail. Randolph was walking,
dragging at the animal. When he finally reached the summit he was
red-faced and panting.

"I note the way of a transgressor is hard," observed
Janey.

"Why--didn't you--run off?" he asked.

"I'd only have got lost. Besides I think it'd be unwise to
leave the commissary department. Also I have an absorbing desire
to see what is going to happen to you."

"That'll be nothing compared to what's coming to you," he
returned, as he mounted again. "Oh, by the way, how is that
internal injury I gave you?"

"It's better. But I can bear it for your sake, Phil. I want so
much to help you make a success of this cradle-snatching
stunt."

"Say, you flatter yourself," he retorted.

"Well, yes, I'm not exactly an infant. But I'll be good
practice for you, so that later, when the tourists come, you may
be able to manage some of the girls pretty well."

"Would you mind riding on, and not talking so much," he said,
with asperity.

"I certainly wouldn't have waited for you, if there'd been any
trail. But it's disappeared."

"Ride straight toward those red rocks," he returned,
pointing.

Janey did as she was bidden, glad to be able once more to let
her horse look out for himself, so that she could attend to the
surroundings. The sun was slanting westward, toward a high wall
that ran away to the northward. The desert stretched level ahead
of her, with a horizon line matched by red rocks. Not far in
front, a growth of purple brush began to show sparsely and to
thicken in the distance. It was very fragrant and beautiful.
Presently Janey recognized the fragrance of sage.

Huge clouds had rolled up, and except in the west they were
black and stormy. Dark curtains hung down from them to the floor
of the desert. They must be rain. The afternoon was hot and
sultry, without a breath of wind. By and by the clouds hid the
sun and turned duskily red.

Janey was somewhat surprised to have Randolph catch up and
pass her.

"Better trot your horse, if you're not too weak to hang on,"
he said. "It's going to storm and we must reach the shelter of
the rocks."

"How lovely! I hope it rains cats and dogs," she returned
amiably.

"Don't worry. You'll be scared stiff when night comes, if it
does."

Janey was about to laugh at him scornfully, but happened to
remember that she really was afraid of storms.

"Are desert storms bad?" she inquired, anxiously.

"Terrible...You can't see. You get half drowned. Rocks roll
down the cliffs and floods roar down the washes."

Surefoot had an easy trot, for which Janey was devoutly
thankful. She had begun to realize that she was not made of
leather. And the faster gait had a businesslike look of getting
somewhere.

Meanwhile the sun disappeared wholly behind massing clouds,
and thunder rolled in the distance. Drops of rain began to fall,
and the warm air perceptibly cooled. Janey put on her coat; and
was once more reminded of the annoying brevity of her skirt. What
a picture she must make! How her riding friends would have howled
to see her mounted in this rig! She wondered what Randolph would
do if it rained heavily. Janey had a sneaking suspicion that he
would let her get as wet as if she were under Niagara. But after
all a warm rain would not be such a hardship. Thunder and
lightning, however, made her nervous, even indoors.

The storm quartered slowly across the desert, a wonderful
sight to eyes used to close walls and crowded streets. Janey
breathed deeply. The sage fragrance seemed to intoxicate her. The
misty rain felt sweet on her hot cheeks. The growing breeze
brought a breath of wet dust.

Randolph was trotting his horse at as fast a clip as the pack
animal could keep up. Janey set Surefoot to a lope. Then she
experienced an exhilaration. She was astounded that she was not
thinking about the possibility of being wretchedly wet and
uncomfortable.

It turned out, however, that they beat the gray pall of rain
which moved behind them across their trail. Randolph led her down
among the strange scrawled rocks Janey had seen for so long into
the shelter of a shelving cliff. Clumps of cedar and patches of
sage dotted the slope in front, and, opposite, a high wall of
rock shut out the horizon.

"Throw your saddle," ordered Randolph, practically, as he
dismounted.

When Janey had accomplished this Randolph was at hand to
hobble her horse and turn him loose.

"If there isn't a water hole in this canyon there sure will be
one pronto," he said.

"You think it will storm?" she asked, dreamily.

"Storm? You're to see your first real storm. Say, are you any
good at camp work?"

"You mean chopping sticks, cooking stuff and washing
dishes?"

"Well, not exactly. We don't chop sticks, etc. But you have
grasped my meaning."

"I'm perfectly helpless," Janey assured him, which was a
lie.

"Fine wife you'll make," he replied.

"Mr. Randolph, I'm used to being waited upon," said Janey,
elevating her chin. "And I didn't coax you to fetch me on
this--this camping trip."

"Ye Gods!" he expostulated, spreading his hands wide. "I know
that...But I didn't figure on what we're up against."

"You should combine study of weather conditions with your
archaeological and girl pursuits."

"Dammit!" he returned, doggedly. "I can't get rid of the idea
that you'd be a thoroughbred--a real sport in any kind of a
situation."

Randolph turned away then, unconscious that he had brought
delight to Janey's heart. She hoped she had deserved what he had
said. And there appeared to be signs that she would be tested to
the utmost. She decided, however, to allow him to labor under
doubts for a while longer.

Finding a seat where she could lean against the wall Janey
watched her captor with interest. He unpacked with swift hands.
Then he strode to the cedars and fetched back an enormous load of
firewood, which he threw down with a crash. His next move was to
start a fire, and wash his hands. Following this, with a speed
and facility that astonished Janey, he mixed biscuit dough in a
pan. There were several canteens full of water, and a number of
canvas sacks, all bulging. He had two small iron ovens in the
fire and a coffeepot. If Janey had been blind she would soon have
been pleasantly aware of steaming coffee and frying bacon.
Presently Randolph straightened up and glanced in her
direction.

"Of course you can swear you'll starve to death. But you won't
do it. And you can save your face by not making the bluff...Will
you have supper?"

"Yes, Professor Randolph, I'm hungry. And besides, I'm curious
to see if you can cook. You have such varied
accomplishments."

He brought her supper and laid it on the level rock beside
her. Janey had told the truth about being hungry, but she did not
tell him how good everything tasted. The hot biscuits, well
buttered, were delicious. And when had she tasted such coffee?
For dessert she had a cup of sliced canned peaches. And
altogether the meal was most satisfying. Janey was ashamed to ask
for more, but she could have eaten it.

Meanwhile the afternoon had waned, and twilight shadows were
filling the hollows below. A steady rain set in. The campfire
lighted up the shelving roof of the cliff. Janey walked to and
fro, round the corner of projecting wall, and explored some of
the niches. She felt pretty tired and sore. Her knees burned from
their exposure to the sun. Her cheeks felt pleasantly warm.

Randolph was packing loads of firewood. He did not appear to
mind the rain, for he certainly was wet, and did not take the
trouble to put on his coat. It was seeing him in a different
light. Janey remembered a good many of her friends and
acquaintances, who could dress and talk and dance and grace
social occasions in the great city, who she doubted would have
been her selection for service and protection in the desert.

She walked to the campfire and held her hands to the blaze.
The night air had begun to have a little chill. The hot fire felt
pleasant.

"You got your hair wet," said Randolph, disapprovingly.

"So I did," replied Janey, with her hand to her head.

"Well, there isn't very much of it, so it'll dry quickly...You
must have had beautiful hair once."

"Once?"

"Yes, once. Women have sacrificed for fad and comfort. The
grace, the glamour, the exquisite something natural to women
disappeared with their long hair. It's a pity. Why did you want
to look like a man?"

"Look like a man? I never did."

"Why did you cut your hair then?"

"To be honest I don't know. My reasons would sound silly to
you. But as a matter of fact women are slaves to fashion. They
used to be slaves to many things--men, for instance. But we've
eliminated that."

"I wonder if women are eliminating love also?" he inquired,
gloomily.

"They probably are, until men are worthy of it."

Randolph stalked off into the darkness, and stayed so long
that Janey began to be anxious. Surely he would not leave her
alone. It was pitch dark now; the rain and wind were augmenting;
the solitude of the place seemed accentuated. Janey gazed out
into the dark void, and then back at the caverned cliff. There
might be all kinds of wild animals. Snakes and reptiles. It was
delightful for a woman to be alone on occasions, but here was one
when there seemed need of a man. To her relief Randolph emerged
from the gloom, packing another load of firewood.

"Are you going to stay up all night?" he asked. "Tomorrow will
be the hardest day you've had. You need sleep and rest."

"Where am I supposed to get them?"

"I made your bed up there," said Randolph, pointing to a
ledge. "It's easy to climb up from this end. You'll be dry...I'll
spread my tarp and blankets here by the fire."

Janey did not show any inclination to retire at once. She was
tired enough, but did not choose to be sent to bed like a child.
She stood by the fire until she was thoroughly dry. Then she sat
down on a stone just the right distance from the red crackling
logs. Randolph stood on the other side, looking down with his
hands outstretched. He seemed to have the burden of the world
upon his shoulders. Then he turned his back to the fire, and
stood that way for a long time. The wind whipped in under the
shelving rock, cool and damp; the rain pattered steadily outside;
the fire sputtered and cracked; the fragrant smoke blew this way
and that. At last Randolph turned again to face the fire. And he
looked more troubled than ever.

"Mr. Randolph, you seem gravely thoughtful for a man who has
accomplished his purpose," observed Janey.

"I was just thinking," he replied, giving her a strange
glance, "how pleasant a picnic it would be--if we were good
friends."

"Yes, wouldn't it?" returned Janey, flippantly.

"Very unreasonable of me, I know. I didn't and couldn't expect
you to enjoy being dragged off this way. But being here made me
think how--how wonderful it would be if--if--"

He did not conclude the sentence and his closing words were
full of regret. Quite evidently he felt that he had sacrificed a
great deal to her father's whim. Janey had an uneasy
consciousness that sooner or later he would betray her father and
explain this unheard-of proceeding. She did not want Randolph to
do this and must prevent it coming about. The only way, she
repeated to herself, was to give him such a hard time that he
would carry the thing out through sheer anger and disgust. As an
afterthought Janey reflected that she could correct the terrible
impression she was likely to give him. But suppose she could not!
She dismissed that as absurd.

"I'd prefer you had kidnaped me in a limousine," she said
lightly. "I'm used to being whisked off--and kept parked in some
outlandish place."

"Good God!" he ejaculated. "I've begun to believe your
father!"

"What did he say?"

"Never mind. But it was enough...And--will you oblige me by
keeping your habits to yourself."

Janey tittered. "If that isn't just like a man! A lot of
thanks I get for trying to make it easy for you."

"Make what easy?" he asked, belligerently.

"Why, this stunt of yours...Now you've got me off on your old
desert I should think you'd be glad to find I'm not--well, an
innocent and unsophisticated little gal."

"Janey Endicott, you're a liar!" he almost shouted at her,
starting up, bristling. Then he wheeled and strode off into the
darkness along the cliff wall.

He left Janey with a heart beating high. In spite of her bald
remarks he was struggling to keep alive his ideal of her. Janey
thought she might go too far and stab it to death. But the truth
was that her father had grossly misrepresented her, and that she
had aided and abetted it by falsehood. Love was not easily
killed, certainly not by a few lies. She would carry on. And the
revelation of her true self to Randolph would be all the sweeter.
Gazing into the opal heart of the campfire Janey lost herself
momentarily in a dream, from which she awakened with a start. A
coyote had wailed his dismal war cry. It made Janey shiver.

She left the campfire, and climbed up the slanting rough rock
to the ledge where Randolph had made her bed. What a nice snug
rock, high and dry! Janey would feel reasonably safe when
Randolph came back. She sat down on the tarpaulin covering her
bed, and her sensation roused the conception that it would not be
a feather bed or a hair mattress by an exceedingly long shot.
Suddenly she realized she would have to sleep in her clothes for
the first time in her life. How strange! Then without more ado
she took off her coat, made a pillow of it, and removing her
shoes she slipped down into the blankets, stretched out and lay
still.

The bed consisted of two thicknesses of blankets and the
canvas under and over them.

Hard as a board under her! Yet what a relief, warmth and
comfort the bed gave! The fire cast flickering fantastic shadows
upon the roof of this strange habitation. Gusts of wind brought
cool raindrops to her fevered face and the smell of wood smoke.
Above the steady downpour of rain she heard a renewed crackling
of the fire. Rising on her elbow she saw Randolph replenishing it
with substantial logs. The sight gave Janey satisfaction. She
dropped back, laughing inwardly. Phil Randolph was in quite a
serious predicament.

Janey settled herself comfortably to think it all over. But
she did not seem to be able to control her mind as usual. Her
eyelids drooped heavily and though she opened them often they
would go shut again, until finally they stuck fast. A pleasant
warmth and sense of drowsy rest were stealing over her aching
body. She had a vague feeling of anxiety about snakes,
tarantulas, scorpions, but it passed. She was being slowly
possessed by something vastly stronger than her mind. The
rainfall seemed to lessen. And her last lingering consciousness
had to do with the fragrance of smoke.

Janey half roused several times during the night, in which she
rolled over to try to find a softer place in her bed. But when
she thoroughly awoke it was daylight. The rain had ceased.
Sunrise was a stormy one of red and black, with a little blue sky
in between. When she sat up with a groan and tried to straighten
she thought every bone in her body was broken. She sat on her bed
and combed her hair, and slyly cleaned her sunburned face with
cold cream. Over the edge of rock she spotted Randolph, brisk and
whistling round the campfire. Whistling! Janey listened while she
put on her shoes. Then she got to her knees. Never had she had so
many sore muscles. The arm Randolph had wrenched was the
worst.

"Hey, down there," called Janey. "What was the name of that
robber baron who ran off with Mary Tudor?"

Randolph stared up at her, almost laughing.

"Bothwell, I believe," he replied, constrainedly.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Bothwell," added Janey.

He returned her greeting with the air of a man who had almost
forgotten something unpleasant. He did not whistle any more, and
eyed Janey dubiously as she limped and crawled down the slope to
a level.

"How are the eats?" she asked, brightly.

"I was just about to call you," he said. "Breakfast will be
ready soon as the coffee boils."

"What kind of a day is it going to be?"

"Bad, I fear. It's let up raining, but I think there'll be
more."

"Gee, how sore I am! You nearly broke my arm. And that
slabstone bed finished me."

"I hope the internal injury is better," he rejoined dryly.

"Oh, that. I guess that was hunger, or else a terrible pang of
disappointment to find you such a monster...Call me when you're
ready to give me something to eat."

Janey walked about to stretch her limbs. The overhanging sky
was leaden and gray, except where a pale brightness had succeeded
the ruddy sunrise. She heard a roar down in the canyon and
concluded it was running water. Little muddy streams were
coursing down the shallow ditches. Beyond the cliff she saw water
in sheets running off the rocks above. The cedars were green and
fresh; and the sage had an exquisite hue of purple. Janey
ventured to the edge of the cedar grove; and saw down into the
canyon where a red torrent swirled and splashed. She recalled
hearing the trader tell of sudden floods pouring down the dry
washes. This was one of them; and she understood now why heavy
storms impeded desert travel.

A shout turned Janey's footsteps camp-ward. Randolph had
breakfast ready, and it was equally as appetizing as the supper
the night before.

"Evidently you're not going to starve me into submission,
anyway," she observed.

"I don't know about submission, but you'll be starved into
something, all right," he declared.

"Do we have to cross this canyon?"

"We do, and pronto, or we won't cross at all."

"Why, there's a regular torrent."

"Not bad yet."

"Then we must hurry?"

"Yes. If we rustle along--and are lucky--we may make
Beckyshibeta tonight."

Not for anything would Janey have importuned Randolph to turn
back. But the serious nature of desert travel under unfavorable
conditions now dawned upon her; and her mood of levity suffered a
sidetracking. She had no more to say. Hurrying through breakfast
she proceeded to assist Randolph with the camp chores. He
objected, but she paid no attention to him.

"Where are the horses?" she asked, suddenly.

"They'll be near somewhere. They're hobbled, you know, and
wouldn't stray from good grass. I'll fetch them in."

He was absent so long that Janey began to worry. At last he
showed up, riding his horse bareback, and leading the other two.
Surefoot looked fat. Janey undertook the job of saddling him. As
she swung up the heavy saddle she observed Randolph watching her
out of the corner of his eye. When her horse was ready she turned
to Randolph. He was loading the pack animal. Janey had watched
the cowboys throw what they called the diamond hitch--an
intricate figure-eight knot that held the pack on--and she now
saw Randolph was as expert as any of them. Nevertheless some
assistance from her was welcome to him. He made only one remark,
which concerned the way she pulled on the rope. When the pack was
on tight Randolph saddled his own horse.

"I've left my chaps out for you to wear," he said, indicating
a pair of worn leather chaps lying on a rock.

"How can I wear chaps in this dress?" asked Janey.

"I don't know. Stuff your skirt down in them. Reckon there's
not much to stuff."

Janey overlooked his retort, and picking up the chaps she
stepped into them. They were too long and too large. From the
expression on Randolph's face she gathered that she must be a
peculiar-looking object.

It was when Janey tried mounting her horse that she came to
grief. The chaps were stiff and heavy, and she could not reach
the stirrup with her foot. Randolph offered to lift her up, but
she declined. Finally she made a violent effort, a sort of
spring. She missed the pommel with her hand and the stirrup with
her foot, and fell flat. Janey scrambled up quite enraged. If
there was anything she hated it was to look clumsy. Randolph's
face had a strained look. He was holding in his laughter.

"I--I suggest you try to mount from the rock there," he
said.

"I'll get up here or die," replied Janey, furiously.

Next time she lifted her left foot with both hands and got it
in the stirrup. Then she leaped, sprung from her right foot, and,
catching pommel and cantle, she dragged herself up into the
saddle.

"Not so bad for a tenderfoot," observed Randolph. Whereupon he
rode off, leading the pack horse.

Janey followed down the slope of wet red earth, by some
scrawled rocks, into the canyon. They rounded a corner to come
upon the muddy swift stream. It was silent here, but from below
came up a dull roar. Janey had never seen such dirty-looking
water. It was half silt. What a terrifying place to venture
into!

Randolph crossed a flat sand bar, and urged his horse into the
water. He spurred, and yelled, and dragged at the pack animal.
They set up a great muddy splashing. Janey gathered that the more
speed used here, the easier and safer the crossing. Her heart
simply leaped to her throat. Randolph's horse went in to his
flanks. What a tremendous but clumsy struggle the two animals
made! Janey almost lost sight of them in the splashing. They
reached shallow water, heaved up, and waded out safely on the bar
opposite. Randolph halted his horse and turned to look. For a
moment he merely looked.

"Well, Central Park," he called, in a tone that challenged
Janey.

"Coming, fossil hunter!" she replied, defiantly.

Surefoot naturally would rather have turned back. Janey had to
kick him to start him at all. And then she could not make him go
fast enough. He splashed in to his knees, slowed up, and began to
flounder.

"Come hard," yelled Randolph.

Janey urged her horse with all her might. It was too late for
good results. Surefoot struck the deep water at too slow a gait,
and the current carried him off his feet. Janey's distended eyes
saw the red flood well to her hips. How cold, angry, strong.
Randolph rode madly down along the opposite bank, yelling she
knew not what. In the presence of real peril Janey's sense and
nerve rose to combat her terror. She kept her seat in the saddle.
She pulled Surefoot diagonally downstream. He was half swimming
and half wading. Fifty yards below where Randolph had crossed,
Janey's horse struck shallow water and harder bottom and made
shore just above a place where the stream constricted between
steep banks, and began to get rough.

Randolph had waded his horse in to meet hers.

"You should have ridden in fast," he said, almost harshly. But
the fact that his face was white caused Janey to forgive his
rudeness.

"You told me a little late," replied Janey, coolly.

"I apologize. I--I thought you would follow suit," he returned
with an effort.

Janey did not need to be told what a narrow escape it had
been. She effectively concealed her real feelings.

"Pray don't apologize. I didn't expect much courtesy from
you," she said, evenly.

The blood leaped to Randolph's pale cheek and he stifled a
retort. Then he rode back to the pack animal and took up the
halter again. Janey rode on behind him, pondering over the
possibilities of this eventful day.

CHAPTER 6

Five hours later, and fifteen miles farther on over this awful
desert, Janey had experienced sensations never before known to
her except by hearsay.

She had been wet to the skin for hours. It was not rain but a
deluge. She had forded so many gutters and wastes and gorges that
she could no longer remember the number. She had fallen off her
horse into the mud. She had been compelled to dismount and climb
up steep wet sand slopes, where every step seemed the last one
before she flopped down to die. She had been pulled across raging
creeks by Randolph, and rescued from certain death at least
twice. And the wonder of it all was that she had kept the true
state of her misery and terror from her captor. She vowed nothing
would ever make her show yellow and crawl--to give this man and
her father the satisfaction they craved. She would prove one
thing anyhow that a modern girl could have more nerve than all
the old-fashioned women put together. Lastly she was unable to
decide whether she would end by passionately hating Randolph or
loving him. Certainly he could not have planned such
opportunities as had come up. He treated her almost precisely as
if she had been a young man. Indeed it was because of this in two
instances that she had nearly drowned. Yet he was amazingly cool,
indifferent to her and danger as well. But when necessary, he had
the quickness, the judgment and strength to drag her to
safety.

The rain let up now and then, so that Janey could see the
desert. If it had ever been level, it was no longer so. It was
turned on end, broken into ragged pieces, upheaved and
monumental, a wild world of walls, cliffs, rocks, canyons.

There was not a dry stitch on her, and she appeared to be red
mud from head to toe. Sand and water were mixed inside her shoes.
When Randolph trotted his horse, or dismounted to descend into
some gully and climb out, Janey, following suit, grew hot and
breathless from the unusual exercise. When they rode slowly,
which fortunately was not often, she grew cold. And now she began
to get hungry.

She remembered she had wrapped up a piece of meat and a
biscuit, and deposited it in her pocket. With dismay she found
the biscuit wet and soggy. But she ate it anyhow. Then the piece
of meat. She had never before known anything to taste so good.
And she reflected on how little she had ever appreciated food. A
person must starve to realize that.

The rain poured down again, so thick and heavy that Janey
could only dimly discern the pack horse scarcely fifteen paces
ahead. Janey's saddle held a pool of cold water. It rained down
inside her chaps into her shoes. What a miserable sensation that
was! It pelted her back and ran in a stream off the brim of her
hat. Patiently she waited, praying for a lull. But none came. And
her state became one of utter wretchedness. All she asked now was
to live long enough to choke her father and murder Randolph.

Janey was to learn something undreamed of--the latent
endurance of a human being. She managed to stick on her horse, to
keep up without screaming. But she knew another gorge, if they
encountered one, would be her finish. She would just fall off her
horse and sink out of Randolph's sight. Maybe that would touch
the indifferent brute!

No more canyons were met, however, though the rock walls grew
mountainous. All at once Janey seemed to realize the dull gray
light was darkening. The day was ended, and the storm appeared to
increase in fury. At times the great walls afforded protection,
but largely they rode in the open. Surefoot now kept on the heels
of the pack horse. When Randolph at last halted, Janey had an
overpowering sense of huge black walls, and a roaring of wind or
water.

"It's been some rotten day," said Randolph, as he reached to
take her from the saddle.

Janey could see his face dimly in the gloom. When she tried to
get out of the saddle, she simply slid off into Randolph's arms.
He carried her a few steps and set her upright on a rock.

"You're a game kid, anyway," he muttered, as if speaking to
himself. Then he disappeared. Janey found she could lean back
against a wall, which she did in unutterable relief. Evidently
they were under some kind of shelter, for it was dry. She smelled
dust that had never been wet. The blackness above was split by a
pale band, which must have been the sky. Sound of wind and water
filled the place with hollow roar. She was very cold, miserable,
inert and hungry. If she could only sleep or die! Her
wretchedness was a horror. She could scarcely lift a hand. Every
bone in her body seemed broken, every muscle bruised. And she was
so wet she felt she would liquefy into a stream of water!

Suddenly a light pierced the blackness, and she heard a
crackling. Randolph's figure showed in a dim flare. He had
kindled a fire. Wonderful man to find dry wood in a deluge! She
saw a blue-gold blaze leap up through a tangle of brush and
sticks. In a moment the place was illumined by a roaring fire. It
had a subtle effect upon Janey. She saw sheer walls of rock on
three sides, and a black void on the other.

Randolph approached her, and drew her to the fire.

"Get dry and warm. It'll make a difference," he said, and he
placed one of the canvas packs for her to sit upon. But Janey,
weak as she was, stood up to the blaze, extending cold trembling
hands.

"It feels good," she replied.

Indeed she wanted to walk into that blazing pile of sticks.
What had she ever known about a fire? Of its singular beauty, its
power to cheer, its wonderful property to warm cold flesh! It was
the difference between death and life. She understood the
barbarians who first invented, or found it. She knew now why she
loved the sun.

Her wet clothes began to steam. She turned from one side to
the other, as long as she could stand the burn.

"Sit down and let me pull off the chaps," suggested
Randolph.

When he had accomplished this task, which was not easy, in
view of the fact that Janey had to hold desperately on to the
pack to keep from being dragged off, she felt almost as if she
were undressed. The short skirt of woolen material had shrunk and
wrinkled until it was a spectacle that made Janey shriek with
laughter, despite her woes. Randolph laughed with her, but
evidently avoided looking at her. After wringing the water out of
her skirt as best she could, Janey approached the fire, standing
as close as she dared. She turned round and round, sat down upon
the pack until she rested, then repeated the performance. It was
amazing how quickly her clothes dried. And equally amazing was
the effect upon her spirits.

Meanwhile Randolph was cooking the meal so quickly that Janey
thought there must be very little firewood left.

"What's the rush?" asked Janey. "Looks as if we'd have to stay
here tonight, anyhow."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Famished."

"Well, that's reason enough."

"You're awfully good to me...Where are we?"

"Beckyshibeta."

"So soon!" exclaimed Janey, gazing around her. The flare from
the fire showed yellow walls, dark caverns, cracks; and in front
a space of rock-strewn ground leading to dimly outlined trees,
and then a blankness.

"So it was your life's ambition to fetch me here?" Janey said
incredulously. "Gee, men are queer! You might have accomplished
much more by taking me to the Waldorf Astoria!"

The wants of primitive peoples must have been very few.
Shelter, warmth, food, and something to wear. Yet what cardinally
important wants these were! Janey was so grateful for the first
three wants that she almost reconciled herself to the lack of the
last. She reflected that if her skirt shrunk any shorter she
would have to don Randolph's chaps permanently or else look like
one of the chorus girls in the Follies. She did not care, after
all. It would only add to the sum of Randolph's iniquity.

Janey was thinking along that line, and eating prodigiously,
when something happened. All went dazzlingly, blindingly white.
She lost her sight. Deep blackness again, then an awful terrific
crash. The great walls seemed to be falling. Janey screamed, yet
did not hear her own voice. A tremendous boom and bang resolved
into concatenated thunder, which rolled away, leaving Janey weak
and paralyzed with fear.

"W-what was--th-that?" she faltered.

"Just a little lightning and thunder," he replied. "They'll
get bothersome presently, when the streaks of lightning come down
like the rain. Better finish your supper. Then you can crawl
under your blankets and shut out the flashes, anyhow."

Janey's appetite had been effectually checked, but she
swallowed the rest of her meal, every moment dreading another
earth-riving crash. But it did not come at once. She had surprise
added to dread. The stillness and darkness became most
oppressive.

"Where's--my bed?" asked Janey, rising.

"I haven't unrolled it yet," replied Randolph, jumping up.

Just then a sudden silver-blue blaze struck Janey blind. She
stood as one stricken, every muscle, nerve, and brain cell in
abeyance to the expected crash. Such a shock came that it knocked
Janey flat. And when she became conscious of sound again a mighty
rumble of thunder boomed at the walls. Randolph was trying to
lift her. Janey opened her tight-shut eyes and clung to Randolph.
He had got her to her knees when another white flash and awful
clap made her collapse in his arms.

Randolph carried her a few steps back and put her down. But
she still clung to him.

"It's only a storm--just lightning and thunder," he was
saying, most earnestly. "We're safe. We can't be struck or hurt.
There's only one danger--that of being caught in a flood. But
it'd have to rain a long time...Janey, don't be such a child.
Why--"

His assurances did not compose Janey. She knew it, too. She
had been worn out physically. And from childhood she had always
dreaded a storm. That fear had been born in her. And never had
she seen or heard anything to compare with this lightning and
thunder. They were blinding, deafening, nerve-racking and
absolutely stunning. That was why Janey had her face on
Randolph's breast and clung to him with all the strength she had
left. She was aware that he tried to disengage himself--that he
kept on talking, but both action and voice augmented her terror.
They would come again, and she wanted to be hidden, to be held.
They did come, and Janey, even with her eyes shut and face
pressed hard against Randolph's breast, saw the intense white
light. Then followed the stupendous crash. The earth shook under
her. The whole world seemed full of staggering sound. It clapped
back and forth from wall to wall, and rolled away like a mountain
of stone.

Janey had a last lingering recollection of the part she had
meant to play, of a wicked hope for this very opportunity.

"Y-you've taken m-me from m-myself," she faltered.

Randolph's reply was drowned in another explosion. But Janey
felt him take her closely in his arms and hold her tightly. Then
it seemed the storm broke into incessant flash and crash, until
there was no darkness or silence again. That period, long or
short, was the worst Janey had ever experienced. When the storm
passed she was dazed. But she felt Randolph lay her down and
cover her with blankets. And that was the last thing she
knew.

When she awakened the sun was shining somewhere, for she saw a
gold-crowned rim of lofty wall. She remembered instantly where
she was and how she had gotten there. Yet the place was as weird
and magnificent as any dream. Great walls and columns of colored
stone rose above her. Only a narrow strip of blue sky could she
see. She heard a sullen roar of waters and smelled wood
smoke.

"So this is Paris--I mean Beckyshibeta," murmured Janey,
wonderingly. And she tried to rise so that she could look about
her. But with the movement such a pang shot through her body that
she fell back, uttering a sharp little cry. She was so cramped
and stiff that the slightest sudden effort caused pain. Whereupon
she moved her aching limbs very cautiously and stretched her sore
body likewise.

Janey was swearing softly to herself when she discovered her
muddy shoes on a rock beside her bed. She did not recall taking
them off. Randolph had done that. Her coat, too, was under her
head. Then she ascertained with relief that these two kindly
services constituted the extent of Randolph's activities as
lady's maid.

She heard a step grate on rock. Randolph appeared to gaze
anxiously down upon her.

"Did you call?" he asked, quickly.

"I just squealed," she replied, gazing up at him, careful to
draw the blankets close to her chin.

"Good morning," he went on, as an afterthought.

"Good morning," returned Janey, sweetly. "How are you?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I'm dead."

"You're sure a live and handsome corpse," he said, bluntly.
"Lord, I wonder if anything could mar your beauty."

His tone was one of exasperating resignation, as well as
reluctant admiration. To Janey it was like a drink of wine.

"Phil, are you calling on the Lord?"

"I sure am."

"Well, I think it's sacrilege!"

"In extreme cases the most degraded of men might naturally
express himself so. I own it was silly of me. I can't expect to
be saved," he said solemnly.

"You shouldn't expect mercy either, from the Lord--or me."

"Probably you'll be more inclined to be merciful if I fetch
you a nice hot breakfast," he said tentatively.

"Yes. Your cooking is your one redeeming virtue."

"Thanks," he replied, and turned to go.

"Phil, wait," she called. "What did I do last night?"

"Do? Why, nothing in particular."

"I remember being knocked flat by a stroke of lightning. That
must have dazed me, for the rest seems a sort of dim horror."

"It was a bad electric storm even for this desert. No wonder
you were shocked. You see it's very much worse when you're walled
in by cliffs. The echoes crack from cliff to cliff--truly
terrific."

"Was I frightened?"

"Rather."

"Did I scream or--say anything?"

"You told me I had taken you from yourself."

"Heavens!...What did I do?" she exclaimed, intensely
curious.

"I fear it would embarrass you."

"No doubt. That's why I insist. I want to know."

"Well, I picked you up, intending to carry you up here, where
it's more sheltered. But you grabbed me--hid your face--and hung
on as if for dear life. So I just held you till the storm was
over."

"Indeed!...Did the storm last long?"

"Hours."

Janey gave him an inscrutable glance and smile.

"I presume you would have a storm like that every night."

"Yes. I would if I had the power," he said, intensely.

"You would be worse than cruel," she rejoined, gravely. "My
mother was a very highly organized and sensitive person,
inordinately afraid of lightning and thunder. I was prematurely
born after a storm...One of the recollections of my childhood is
that mother used to take me into a dark hallway during a
storm."

"I'm sorry I said that," he replied, and left. Presently he
fetched up her breakfast and retired rather hurriedly, without
speaking again. Janey struggled to a sitting posture, and applied
herself diligently to the ham and eggs, toasted biscuit, well
buttered, and coffee. Truly Phillip Randolph was astounding.
Where did he get fresh eggs? Of course he had fetched them. But
how? Perhaps he believed that the way to a woman's heart lay
through her stomach.

Janey had intended to stay in bed and rest. But one look over
the bulge of rock up at lofty golden rims and down into a
wilderness of bright green canyon put idleness out of the
question. She would explore Beckyshibeta if she had to drag
herself around. Consulting her little mirror she saw that her
face had been sunburned, but not unbecomingly so. And the other
sunburn, even if it did hurt, did not matter, any more than her
shriveled and shrunken garments. There was no danger of any
critical and supercilious woman seeing her. Suppose Bert
Durland's mother could see her in this outfit! Janey giggled. It
would be priceless. Nevertheless she did not care for that
catastrophe.

She got up groaning. Muscles and bones were no doubt essential
to the human frame, but this morning she would rather have
dispensed with them. She was weak, lame, sore and burned. The
band of sunburn above her knees was particularly annoying.

"Oooo!" moaned Janey, as she drew herself erect. "Why did I
leave home?"

Finally she wore off the stiffness to the extent of being able
to walk; then she laboriously climbed down to a level and gazed
about her. The place appeared to be simply an enormous cavern
with a dome higher than that of the Grand Central Station, which
was going some, Janey admitted. It opened on a level bench that
extended out over a green canyon, perhaps half a mile wide and
twice as long. How refreshing and colorful the different kinds of
foliage! It contrasted beautifully with the red and gold of
gorgeous colossal cliffs that sheered up as if to the very sky. A
sullen roar of water greeted Janey's ears. She heard the twitter
of birds in the cedars and cottonwoods. All appeared bright and
clean, with a warm sun shining after the storm. Thin waterfalls
were dropping over the cliffs, and at the apex of the canyon, its
upper end, a heavy torrent was tumbling down over the broken
masses of rocks.

These were Janey's first impressions and sensations. She
walked out of the shade into the sunshine. Every step was an
effort, but resulted in a wonderful reward in an enlargement of
her view of the weird and magnificent surroundings. The stone
walls were higher than any New York skyscraper. They were full of
great caverns and hollows near their base, and above were cracked
and stained and covered with moss, with niches and ledges where
green growths grew. Janey stood spellbound. Beckyshibeta! What a
marvelous place! It was majestic, grand, and increased in beauty
and wonder as she grasped its true perspective. The canyon
stunned her too, with its shut-in solitude.

"Oh, glorious!" murmured Janey. "I had no idea it was like
this. He never said so. Mr. Bennet didn't lead me to expect much.
But this!"

Janey sat down in the sun, and time was as nothing. She might
have been there minutes or an hour. It was long, however, for
cramped muscles told her so. She breathed it all in. Her eyes
feasted. Something seemed transformed within her. What had she
missed all these idle years? Never, except in a highly colored
romance or two, had she read of such places as this, and she had
believed them merely fiction. But no pen, no brush could do
justice to the truth of Beckyshibeta.

Janey felt that she would be unutterably grateful to Randolph
always. Still she could not let him know. Where was he anyhow?
For a kidnaper who had made off with a victim, he was certainly
elusive.

She went in search of him. Owing to her crippled condition and
the awesome nature of the place, Janey did not make much
progress. She got around an immense corner of wall, below the
cavern he had chosen for their camp, and found another cave
higher and larger than the first. It was full of the ruins of
sections of wall that had fallen. Janey threaded slow passage
between blocks of rock and over weathered slides to another
projecting corner which she thought hid the mouth of the canyon.
The roar of water grew louder. Her way was so beset with
obstacles that she was long in reaching her objective. But at
last she got around the corner.

If she had gazed and gaped before, what did she do now? All
the details she had seen were here repeated and magnified. In
addition, a wicked red stream went brawling down in a series of
rapids. The canyon opened into a larger one, bewildering to
Janey's eyes.

Next she spotted Randolph digging with a pick. He stood just
round the jutting point of wall, and it had been the cracking of
his pick that attracted her attention. Janey made her way to him.
Strange he did not see her! He was shamming or absorbed, not
improbably the latter. He dug like a man who had found the foot
of the rainbow.

Janey hailed him with: "Hey, there, subway digger!"

Randolph was startled. He whirled and dropped his pick. Janey
did not need to be told that he had actually forgotten her.

"Why--Miss Endicott--you--I," he stammered.

"Fine morning on the avenue," she returned.

"It is fine," he said, recovering himself, and reaching for
the pick.

"Phillip, you forgot me, didn't you?"

"I'm afraid I did."

"Left me alone to be eaten by grizzly bears or run off and get
lost or anything!"

"There are no bears. And you can't run off until the creek
falls. Nor can anybody get across to frighten you."

"Very well, but that doesn't explain your leaving me
alone."

"No, it doesn't. To be honest, I just plain forgot you."

"Can you beat that!...You're a fine kidnaper. As you evidently
didn't intend to maltreat me, I certainly expected to be taken
care of, amused and instructed. And you forget me!"

"I always forget everything, when I come to Beckyshibeta," he
replied, apologetically. "Everything except that here, somewhere
in these caverns, is buried the lost pueblo of Beckyshibeta. I
know it. I have read the signs...I daresay if I had run off with
Cleopatra or Helen of Troy, I'd have forgotten."

Janey was impressed again by his singular simplicity and
passion. The man seemed so keen, so sincere, so strong and
hopeful that she almost wished that he would find the treasure
upon which he set such store.

"I'll find Beckyshibeta for you," she said, impulsively.

He stared, then laughed. "I suppose that'd be woman's revenge.
To heap coals of fire upon my head. To flay me with
remorse...But, fun or no fun, please don't find Beckyshibeta for
me."

"Why not? It seems to be your driving passion. Most men I know
are driven by other motives. Money, power, fame."

"Beckyshibeta would give me all these. But I've never thought
of them."

"Then why don't you want me to find it?"

"I'm quite mad enough over you now. If you found Beckyshibeta,
I--"

"Oh. So that's it? That would be a calamity."

"I agree with you. Therefore be careful not to go digging
around these caves. As to that, you stay in camp and stop
following me."

"You found your way here alone. Now go back and stay there,"
he ordered.

Janey did not know whether to swear or laugh at him. He was
most decidedly in earnest. It might be well to save the profanity
for a more fitting time. So she laughed.

"My Lord, I go," she said. "When will it please you to return
to our castle?"

"I'll be along later," he rejoined, quite oblivious to her
levity. "You can fix yourself some lunch."

Whereupon Janey left him to his explorations and turned back,
pondering the interview. Every encounter with Randolph left her
unsatisfied, but she could not figure out why. It took her a good
half hour, resting frequently, to retrace her steps; and all this
while she divided her thoughts between Randolph and Beckyshibeta.
At last she reached camp and found a comfortable slab. She was
exhausted, yet the exertion had been good for her.

"Dad was not such a damn fool, after all," soliloquized Janey.
"I like Phillip Randolph...It's up to me to find out why. I'm
sorry Dad picked him to run off with me. Because I want to hate
him and foil him utterly. But thank the Lord I've finally run
into one man who isn't drunk with alcohol, money or women."

Janey found resting so good that she went back to her
blankets, and did such an unheard-of thing as to fall asleep in
the daytime. When she awoke it was the middle of the afternoon.
She felt better. Randolph had not returned. The fact that he
stayed away from her, on any pretext, astonished Janey. She was
unaccustomed to that in men in her society. She had scarcely
believed that he would remain away all day. "He's gone on me, I
don't think," she told herself, emphatically. She was puzzled,
piqued, amused, resentful, and something else she did not quite
realize yet. It was, however, having a salutary effect.

Janey contented herself with watching the changing afternoon
lights in the canyon; and toward sunset, which came early, owing
to the high walls, she thought she had been transported to some
enchanted world. She saw the top of a distant mesa turn bright
gold; exquisite rays of indescribably pure and beautiful light
streamed down over the rims; in the distance, far through the
gateway of the canyon, she saw purple of so royal a hue that she
exclaimed in delight; walls were shrouded in pink haze, and near
at hand the amber air seemed to float over the soft green
foliage.

"I'm glad to be here," sighed Janey. And she began to discover
hidden depths in herself. It might be possible that she could be
self-sufficient for a while. There was something incalculably
strong working against the habit of mind that had been hers.
Clothes, luxury, amusement, idleness, the theater, the dance, the
ever-present necessity of unlimited money, the attention of
men--these were most astonishingly unnecessary here. Janey shook
off the spell. Beckyshibeta was only a hole in the rocks.
Beautiful, strange, wild, yes, but it was not a place to change
one's soul. And she resented the awakening, insistent tearing at
her mind.

The sun had set and the sky was full of rosy clouds when
Randolph returned, dusty and tired, wiping his tanned face. He
seemed different to Janey, or she saw him with different eyes.
There was something proven about him.

"How's my fair prisoner?" he asked.

"If I'm better in body and mind, I can't thank you for it,"
she replied.

There was no doubt about this, Janey saw. Randolph was at war
with the world--backing his faith in her against the materialism
and paganism of the modern day. It thrilled Janey--quite robbed
her of her contrariness.

"Phillip, I'd like to make you despise me, but I can't
honestly. I do love Beckyshibeta, and I am glad you dragged me
here," she said, with a rich note in her voice, and turned away
her face.

"Thank you. That will help," he replied, with emotion.

Janey watched him go down to the creek with the water bucket.
It would hardly do, Janey considered, for her to think seriously
about him just then. But she realized she must, sooner or later,
have a reckoning with herself. For the present, she must stick to
her part, and not let any earnestness or eloquence of Randolph's
betray her into honesty again.

Randolph returned whistling. Besides the brimming bucket, he
carried a log of wood big enough to crush most men Janey knew.
She leisurely approached the camp and watched him swing an ax. He
started a fire, put on the oven, and then went for more wood.
This time he brought such a big load that Janey objected.

"You'll break your back," she said in alarm. "Phillip, you may
not be the most desirable of companions, but you're better than a
cripple. Please be careful."

"Say, I'm not half a man. You ought to see an Indian pack in
firewood. He fetches a whole tree...But come to think of it, if
that causes you concern, I'll try a big load next time."

Janey did not answer this. She sat down close by and watched
him get supper.

"Phillip, how long will our supplies last--grub, as the
cowboys call it?" she asked.

"I packed enough for three weeks, but did not allow for your
unsuspected capacity. I daresay, if I stint myself, it'll last
ten days."

"And then what?"

"Sufficient unto the day. We can subsist on rabbits, or I can
ride to an Indian camp over here and get more. Or--we can return
to the post."

"What! You'd take me back there--to face my father, the
Bennets and the cowboys, knowing me ruined, disgraced?" she
exclaimed.

"Sure, I will," he replied, cheerfully.

"Phillip, if any other man had done this thing to me, and
fetched me back--what would you do?"

"Do? A whole lot. I'd kill him."

"Exactly. But it's all right for you to do it?"

"Janey, my intentions are honorable."

"Do you imagine you can make the cowboys believe that?"

"I confess I'm a little worried on that score," he replied,
ponderingly. "As a rule cowboys are obtuse and inclined to be
bullheaded. Then they were so absurdly infatuated, and each of
them thought he owned you. Stupid, conceited jackasses! Still
they had ample encouragement."

Janey relapsed into silence, the better to enjoy the
ever-increasing humor of this situation, and the deliciousness of
another sentiment that seemed hard to define. Presently Randolph
began to talk, as if she were the most interested of comrades, as
indeed, if the truth were admitted, she was.

"I followed another blind lead today, all to no avail. Eight
hours of digging for nothing. How often have I done that here!
But I know Beckyshibeta is buried here somewhere. If I only had
unlimited time! But the department insists on definite rewards,
so to speak. I have to find things--bones, pottery, stone
utensils and weapons. In short, I am forced to explore where they
tell me to and not where I want to. Elliot, head of our
department, was out last year. I think I told you. Awful
pill--Elliot! He's only a surface scratcher. Well, he belittled
my theory. He said there was little sign of ancient pueblo here
at Beckyshibeta...And so I can get only snatches at work
here."

"Suppose we tell Elliot to go where it's hot," suggested
Janey.

"I wish I could. But I must have bread and butter, and some
clean clothes occasionally," he returned.

"Phillip, do you always expect to be poor?" she asked.

"I hope not. I have my dream. But I suppose I really always
will be."

"Too bad. But I don't know. Money is a curse, they say.
Personally, I don't see it...Do you know I am rich?"

"Well, it's true. And Dad tells me it has nearly doubled. You
see I can't touch the whole principle until I'm twenty-five. I
have only the income from it--fifty thousand or so a year--and I
confess, I'm broke half the time. I'm always borrowing from
Dad."

But Randolph did not answer and there was an immediate change
in his demeanor. He prepared supper in silence, and remained glum
during the eating of it. She partook heartily of the good meal,
and then left Randolph to himself. By this time the early
twilight was creeping under the walls and it would soon be night.
Janey strolled a little on the edge of the bank. She saw one lone
star come wondrously out of the paling pink. Fair as a star when
only one was shining in the sky! She had read that somewhere.
Wordsworth, perhaps. What would he or Tennyson or Ruskin make out
of Beckyshibeta? There was nothing in Europe to compare with the
canyon country. Janey felt proud of that.

As it grew dark she returned to the campfire. Randolph had
disappeared. She looked into the opal heart of the embers and saw
beautiful disturbing visions there. Then she climbed up the rock
to her bed.

As she sat down on it she was surprised to find it high and
soft. Upon examination she discovered a foot layer of cedar
boughs under it. How fragrant! Randolph must have done that right
after supper. He was a paradox. He had handled her roughly, had
driven her to the limit of endurance, yet he was thoughtful of
her comfort. But the new bed certainly was a relief and a joy.
Janey sighed for some soft woolly pajamas. But she had to sleep
in her clothes. After removing her shoes, she decided she would
take off her stockings, too.

She crawled in between the blankets, and knew in her heart she
would not have exchanged them for silk sheets. Weary, aching as
she was, she could not wish it otherwise. She had never actually
experienced rest. She had never been sufficiently aware of
comfort, ease. They had been habits, with no reason for them.
Here they served a wonderful blessing, a reward.

Where had Randolph gone? It had upset him to learn she was
rich. Janey could not figure out just why. No one would take him
for a fortune hunter. It would be more embarrassing, of course,
to compromise a wealthy girl than a poor one, simply because
marriage would not have such a sacrificial look. Every hour of
this adventure had enhanced its romance, augmented its
possibilities for delight as well as pain. What would the new day
bring?

CHAPTER 7

Janey had been alone all morning. For several hours she had
welcomed the solitude. She had not seen Randolph, who had called
to her that he was leaving her breakfast on the fire. If anything
she was more stiff and sore than ever, but the pangs wore off
more quickly with the use of her muscles. About noon she began to
feel relief.

She simply could not get over Randolph leaving her to her own
devices. Beckyshibeta was more to him than she was. That both
irritated and pleased Janey. But of course she would not stand
for it. So she set out to hunt him up.

The day was lovely, although when she emerged into full
sunshine, which was seldom, it was hot. The fragrant smells of
summer wafted down into the canyon, mingling the sweetness of
sage with wild flowers and fresh green verdure. The creek had run
down and was no longer a roaring torrent. Janey thought she could
wade in it if she wanted to. It would have been nothing for a
horse.

When she walked away from camp under these magnificent walls,
she became somebody else. She grew pensive, dreamy, absorbed and
happy. No use to deny her feelings! Only she did not want
Randolph to see them. A confusing thing, too, was the fact that
under their spell she had to force herself to be true to her old
inclinations. Therefore she refused to realize, or at least to
seek to understand, the elevating power of this strange canyon
wilderness. She could not help sensation. She had to see, to
feel, to smell the place, and even to taste the sweetness of the
dry desert air.

By the time she had worked her way round the second jutting
wall, where Randolph had been digging, she was warmed by the
exertion and free of stiff joints. In truth she felt fine.
Randolph had abandoned this cavern. So Janey went on, to
encounter the most difficult and hazardous climbing over rocks
that the kidnaping escapade had led her to.. There was a thrill
in it. How gratified she felt to surmount the last rock pile! She
discerned Randolph about on a level with her. But the canyon
jumped off deep below him and zigzagged in wonderful hair-raising
ledges beyond.

Randolph did not see Janey. She had opportunity to approach
him by way of a dangerous ledge before he would be aware of her
presence. High places did not bother Janey. She was level-headed
and cool, and reveled in taking risks.

When she got about halfway to him, however, she had to halt.
She was getting in trouble and faced inclines that made even a
girl of her bravery quail. So she sank down to rest and gaze.

The canyon opened wide. It was much vaster and wilder than
that part of Beckyshibeta where Randolph had pitched the camp.
Janey felt something pull at her heartstrings. Was not this
desert fastness simply marvelous? But to look down now made her
shiver. She had been aware of the gradual height she had
attained. Below, a hundred feet or more, spread a slope of talus,
a jumble of broken rock that fell roughly down to the green
thicket. She almost forgot Randolph and her mission in a
realizing worship.

Randolph's pick, ringing steel on stone, brought Janey back.
She discovered a ledge above her where no doubt Randolph had
crossed to the wide area beyond. Coming to a narrowed point, she
got on hands and knees, and began to crawl out. She knocked some
loose rocks off the ledge. They rattled down. Janey swore.
Randolph heard the rattling and turned to look up.

Flinging aside his pick he ran forward to the end of the
bench.

"Stop!" he shouted.

Janey obeyed, more from suggestion than anything else. She
gazed across the void at Randolph.

"That'd make you very handsome and distinguished looking,"
replied Janey.

"Go back!" he shouted, sternly.

"Not on your life!" retorted Janey, and started to crawl
again. She was approaching the narrowed part. It might have
daunted her before, but now she could have managed a more
hazardous place.

"Stop! Turn back!" thundered Randolph. This was pouring oil
upon the flame. "You go to the devil!" cried Janey, and kept on
crawling. She passed the risky point without a tremor or a slip,
and presently, reaching the bench, she stood up before Randolph
in cool triumph.

"No, nix, never, not little Janey. I did tumbling in my class
at college. That little jaunt across there was just an exercise
in coordination, that's all."

"I tell you it was extremely dangerous," expostulated
Randolph.

"We'll always disagree, Phil. I imagine life together for us
will be one long sweet hell."

"No it won't. I might have entertained such an idiotic idea
once, but it's dispelled."

"We needn't discuss the future now. I've begun to reconcile
my--myself to this and you. Don't spoil it...Did you have a nice
dig this morning?"

"Come. I'll help you back over this ledge. Then you go to camp
and stay there," he said, peremptorily.

"No, I won't. I want to be with you."

"Very sorry, but I don't want you here."

"Why? I'll sit still and watch you, and be quiet."

"No!"

"Please, Phil," she pleaded.

"I couldn't work with your big eyes mocking me. You make me
remember I'm only a poor struggling archaeologist."

"But you brought me here."

"Yes, and I'd--I'm damned sorry for it. Someday I'll tell you
why I did it."

"Are you repudiating your--your, well, your interest in me?"
she queried, with hauteur.

"Call spades, spades," he returned. "You mean my love for you.
No, I don't repudiate that. I'm not ashamed of it, though it has
made me a fool."

"Oh! Then there's another reason why you brought me to
Beckyshibeta?" she went on, gravely. It seemed to Janey that
there was no use in trying to stall off the inevitable. Things
tumbled over one another in a hurry to drive her. Pretty soon she
would get sore and face them.

"Yes, there's another, and of that I am ashamed. But come, get
out of here and leave me in peace."

"Mr. Randolph," said Janey, now haughtily. "Has it occurred to
you that I ought not to be left alone--entirely aside from my
loneliness?"

"No, it hasn't," he returned, clenching his hands, and gazing
helplessly down at the river.

"Well, you're rather dense. Some Indian or desperado--anybody
might come. They could get across now, I think."

"No one ever comes here. At least, very seldom, and then I
know they're coming. You're quite safe. And certainly you don't
want my society."

"It is rather dreadful. But I'll stand it awhile. I'll stay
here until you get ready to go back to camp," replied Janey,
airily, and she promptly sat down.

Randolph took her hand and pulled at her. "Come," he said,
trying to control his temper.

"Let go, or we'll have another fight," she warned. "The other
time I didn't hit below the belt or bite."

He gave up. "Very well, if you're that mulish, stay. But look
here, you spoiled brat if you cross this dangerous place again
you'll be sorry."

"Why will I?" asked Janey, immensely interested.

"Because you'll get what you should have had--long ago and
many a time."

"And what's that, teacher?"

"A damned good spanking."

Janey could not believe him serious, yet he looked amazingly
so. But that was only temper--a bluff to rout her utterly. It was
so preposterous that she laughed in his face.

"Mr. Randolph, pardon my laughing, but you are so crude--so
original," she said, and here the Janey Endicott of Long Island
spoke in spite of her.

Perhaps nothing else she could have said would have stung him
so bitterly.

"I have no doubt of it. All the same, I meant what I said. We
are in Arizona now. And if you can't see the difference between
real life and modern froth, I'm sorry for you. Most of America is
too far gone for a good, healthy spanking. It has, I might say, a
vastly different kind of interest in a young woman's anatomy. But
among the few pioneers left in the West, thank God, there are
parents who are still old-fashioned. I'm not a parent. All the
same I can make myself into one, and give you damn well what you
need."

He strode away to his work leaving Janey for once at a loss
for words. It took some moments for Janey to recover her egotism.
Randolph must be having hallucinations. She would put him to the
test presently.

Sauntering closer to the middle of the wide bench, where he
was plying his pick, she found as restful a seat as appeared
available. It would tantalize him to have her so near, watching,
as he called it, with her mocking eyes. She confessed to herself,
however, that her interest in his work was growing keenly
sincere. She truly wanted him to find Beckyshibeta.

"Phillip, how will you know when you strike this buried
pueblo?" she asked, suddenly. "What will it be like?"

"I'd know the instant I struck my pick in it," he replied,
with surprising animation. Randolph evidently was quick to
recover from anger or slight.

"You would, of course, but how would I know?"

He gave her a depreciating glance.

"Well, judging by the intelligence you've shown lately, you
never would know a pueblo. Not if you fell into a kiva!"

"Ah--huh! Gee, I'm a bright girl...What's a kiva?"

"It's a deep circular hole in the ground, covered by a roof,
with an entrance. Used by the cliff dwellers--"

Janey interrupted him. All she had to do was to ask a question
of an archaeological nature and he forgot everything else.

"Then if you disappear suddenly I'm to search for your remains
in a kiva? Very appropriate end for you, I'd say."

Randolph went back to work and though Janey pestered him with
questions he apparently did not hear them. She grew provocative.
He gave no heed. Then she called him mummy hunter, grave robber,
bone digger and like names. Finally, she resorted to "cradle
snatcher," but that glanced off his thick hide, too.

"Say," she concluded in disgust, "if I offered to kiss you,
would you talk?"

"Yes," he flashed, swiftly facing her with a gleam in his
eye.

"Oh! Well, I withhold the offer, but I'm glad you're not
altogether a dead one."

"Janey Endicott, you're an unmitigated fraud," he returned.
"Also, you are a teaser."

"I don't like the sound of that last word. Where did you hear
that?"

"It's a term I heard in New York. I gathered that it was
applicable to a young woman who enticed with false smiles and
words and suggestions. Who allured with all feminine--I should
say female powers--and never gave a single thing she
promised."

"Phillip, you are calling a turn on all women from Eve to Mata
Hari...Say," she burst out suddenly, "I'll bet you a new saddle
to a pair of gauntlets that I make you swallow your slight."

"You're on, Miss Endicott," he declared. "I'll enjoy riding
that saddle, and remembering this winter, while you are back in
New York--"

She saw him flinch, then his jaw set, but that was all the
satisfaction she got. Janey had an unreasonable longing to hear
him passionately deny at least some of these vices for her. But
he did not. He believed them--perhaps now thought the very worst
of her. This was what she had desired, yet most inconsistently,
she would have preferred him to defend her as he had to her
father.

Janey let him alone for a while, although her contemplative
gaze often returned from the lofty crags and wonderful walls to
his strong, stooping figure, and his tireless labor.

When the enchantment of the canyon began once more to lay hold
of her, with its transforming magic, she had recourse to a very
devil of perversity and provocation. Studying the ledges and
slopes of all this great section of ruined wall she at last noted
a narrow strip where even a goat might have had difficulties. It
led toward another projecting corner of red wall, beyond which
another and larger level beckoned with a strange spell. Janey
studied the place a long time. She had reason to believe that
Randolph had not worked any farther than where he now stood. She
yielded to an unaccountable impulse to gain that level.

Rising, she took occasion to stroll around in front of
Randolph, then up to the edge of the amphitheater and in the
direction of a rounded wall which led toward the objective
point.

The ring of Randolph's pick ceased. Janey missed it with
infinite satisfaction.

"Janey, where are you going?" he demanded. "Didn't I--"

She crossed the rim of curved wall and gained the near end of
the narrow strip. How fearful the depth below looked.

"Hold on!" yelled Randolph, his boots thudding over the
rock.

Then Janey turned. "Don't dare come another step!" she cried,
more than defiantly.

Randolph halted short, perhaps a matter of fifty steps from
her.

"Please, come back."

"I'm going across to the next bench."

"Janey! That is worse than this other place. I have never
risked beyond where you are now. Honest. It is more treacherous
than it looks."

"I don't care."

"My God, girl, if you should slip! Have you no sense?"

"You'll have only yourself to blame."

Randolph struggled as if resisting a temptation to leap. He
was silent a full moment. Janey saw his expression and color
change.

"You damned little fool!" he roared, at last. "Come back!"

"Nothing doing, Phil," she taunted.

"Come back!" The stentorian voice only inflamed Janey the more.

"Say, how'd you get like that?"

Randolph started for her and strode halfway round the curved
rim wall before he halted. Janey backed upon the narrow strip, an
exceedingly risky move, but her blood was up and she had no fear.
He saw and stopped as if struck.

"Janey, darling," he called, with an importuning, almost
hopeless, gesture.

This, strangely, came near being Janey's undoing. She wanted
to obey him. Never could she be driven, but she was not
tenderness-proof. Her sudden incomprehensible weakness roused her
to fury.

Randolph deliberately wheeled and went back to the bench.
Facing her then he called out: "Go and be damned. You'll find out
you can't fly. And you'd better stay over there, for if you ever
come back, you'll pay for this."

Thus inspired, Janey turned to the narrow strip. It would not
have frightened her if it had been a beanpole across Niagara.
Sure as a mountain sheep she stepped, and never got down on hands
and knees until she reached the knifelike edge. Over this she
crawled like a monkey. She stood up again and ran the rest of the
way. Gaining the bench she went for a peep round the vast corner
of wall. The most wonderful of all the caverns opened before her.
It was stupendous, overpowering. How marvelous to come back again
and explore! Whereupon she retraced her steps.

Randolph remained as motionless as a statue watching her. On
the return, Janey exercised coolness where at first she had been
daring. She crawled most of the way and never looked down into
the abyss once. Breathless and hot she rested a moment before
taking to the rim wall, then walked across that to where Randolph
stood waiting. She saw that he was white to the lips, but he
wheeled before she could get a second look at his face. It seemed
silly to follow him, but she did, wondering what he would do or
say. He led the way back toward camp.

Janey had not anticipated this. Had she gone too far? Had she
hurt him irretrievably? And now that it was over she reproached
herself. What a spiteful vengeful little fool she was! Still this
was the part she had set herself to play.

She had difficulty in keeping up with Randolph. She kept up on
the easy level ground, but over the rock slides she fell behind.
It seemed a long way back to camp. Excitement and exertion had
told on her. When the last corner of wall had been passed Janey
thought she was pretty well all in.

Randolph had his back to her. How square his shoulders--rigid!
He pivoted on his heels, to disclose terrible eyes.

"Janey Endicott, do you remember what I told you?" he
demanded.

Swift as his words came a sensation of sickening weakness.
Like a stroke of lightning it had come. She imagined she had been
prepared, but she was not. She had misjudged him, underestimated
his courage. Her subtle mind grasped at straws.

"Re-member?" she faltered, trying to smile. "About being--mad
about me?"

"Mad at you!" he replied, grimly.

Then he seized her before she could move a hand. Surprise and
fear inhibited her natural fighting instinct. Randolph lifted
her--carried her.

Suddenly he sat down on the flat rock and flung her over his
knees, face down. All her body went rigid. A terror of
realization and horror of expectation clamped her mind. He
spanked her with such stunning force that it seemed every bone in
her body broke to the blow. The pain to her flesh was hot,
stinging, fierce. The shock to her mind exceeded the sum of all
shocks Janey had ever sustained. She sank limp over his knees.
Smack! Harder this time. Her head and feet jerked up. Her teeth
jarred in their sockets. Again! Again! Again!

Janey all but fainted. Intense fury saved her that. She rolled
off his knees to the ground and bounded up like a cat. A bursting
tearing gush of hot blood ran riot in her breast.

"I'll--kill you!" she panted, low and deep.

Randolph was somewhat shaken at her fury, when she blazed so
fiercely, her fists clenched, her breast swelling.

"Once in your life, Miss Endicott!" he said, huskily. "It's
done. You can't change that. And I did it. I shall have that
unique distinction among your acquaintances."

Janey tried to fly at him, to scratch his eyes out, to beat
him before murdering him. But she let him pass. She felt her legs
sag under her. Blindly then she groped and crawled up to her bed,
sank under the blankets and covered her face. The tension of her
body relaxed. She stretched limp, palpitating, quivering. That
numb dead sensation gradually gave place to burning smarting
pain. The physical suffering at first had precedence over the
chaos of her mind. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. And she
lay there panting, slowly succumbing, her spirit subservient to
her tortured flesh.

It was dark when she had to uncover her head to keep from
suffocating. The bright shadows of a campfire flickered on the
stone above her.

"Janey, child," called Randolph, like a fond parent, "wash
your face and hands and come to supper."

Her blood leaped and boiled again. Rising on her hand, she was
about to give passionate vent to all the profanity she had ever
heard, but as she saw Randolph moving round the fire she stilled
the impulse. She sank back under a compulsion she had never
known. Was she beaten--whipped--cowed? No! She had only been
preposterously shamed and humiliated by an educated ruffian. Her
pride had been laid low. Her vanity was bleeding to death. Janey
writhed in her bed, only to be made painfully aware again of the
maltreated part of her anatomy. The instant there was a
possibility of her returning to the old Janey Endicott, that
burning pain had to recur. What a strangely subduing thing! Her
mind had no control over it or the whirling thoughts it
engendered.

She composed herself at last, in as comfortable a position as
she could find. Again Randolph called her to supper. Eat! She
would starve to death before she would eat anything he had
prepared. How terribly she hated him! The revenge she had planned
seemed nothing to her wild ragings now. Mere killing would not be
enough. Death ended all sufferings. He must be made most horribly
wretched. He must grovel at her feet and bite the very dust.

These bitter thoughts had their sway. They did not have
permanence. All of a sudden Janey discovered she was crying. To
realize that, to fight it and fail, added to her breakdown. She
cried herself to sleep.

Her eyes opened upon azure blue sky and gold-tipped wall.
Consciousness came as quickly as sight. Her impulse was to shut
out the beautiful light of day. She was ashamed to face it. But
slowly she moved the blanket aside. Listening, she soon
ascertained that Randolph was not in camp. Peeping over the rock
she saw a smoldering fire, and the steaming coffeepot and oven on
it.

Janey got up. If she had needed anything to remind her of the
insufferable outrage she had sustained, she had it in sudden
pains, more excruciating than any she had yet endured. The ape!
He had not realized his strength. Maybe he had, though. How
coldly and calmly he had gone about the beating! To wait until
they had come all the way back to camp! In the light of another
day his offense seemed greater.

There was her breakfast on the fire. Janey remembered that she
had sworn she would starve before she would touch Randolph's food
again, but she did not see any sense in that now. As a cook she
was not a genius.

"If there was a mantelpiece here it's a cinch I'd eat my
breakfast off it this morning," she said, mirthlessly.

Dark, brooding thoughts attended the slow meal. Afterward it
occurred to Janey to wash the few utensils Randolph had left for
her use. There was a pan of hot water at hand. This she did and
not without an almost conscious gratification. Then she stared
awhile into the fading red coals of the fire. Next she walked in
the sun, and could not shut out a sense of its warmth, of the
sweet songs of wild birds, of the fragrance of sage and canyon
thicket, of the glorious light under the walls.

What was she going to do? There were a thousand things. But
first, and of absolutely paramount importance, was the fact
dawning upon her that she had to repeat the foolhardy act of
yesterday. A new vague sweet self raised soft voice against it,
but was howled down by Janey Endicott proper. She had to show
Randolph that this so-called cave-man dominance of the past, as
well as the masculine superiority of the present, were things
abolished, obsolete, blazed out of the path by modern woman. This
was no part she was playing. She had ceased to be an actress.
That fun, that desire to turn the tables upon her father and
Randolph had vanished in the night.

Randolph was at work higher up than the day before and close
to the amphitheater around which Janey had crossed to the next
bench.

She walked right past him, casually glancing in his direction.
How could he guess that her heart was beating fast and that
contending tides of emotion warred within her?

If she ever saw a man surprised it was then. The last thing
Randolph would imagine was that she would come back. What sweet
healing balm to Janey's crushed vanity! He leaned on his pick and
watched her. Would he order her back? Would he plead with her
again?

Janey was not foolish enough to underestimate the risk of this
slanting narrow trail. This time, her nerve and caution, and
lightness of foot, balanced the audacity of yesterday. She
crossed without a slip.

Randolph stood leaning on his pick, watching. Not a word had
come from him! She could guess, of course, that he was completely
routed, and probably furious. But was he disappointed? That she
was an irresponsible child! Janey tossed her head. What did she
care? Something hot seared her and she accepted it as hate.

Once round the huge buttress of wall, out of Randolph's sight,
she forgot him. Here was an amphitheater that dwarfed the
Coliseum at Rome, and it was set against a background of
magnificent forbidding walls. How silent! Janey felt that she was
alone in a sepulcher. Her steps led her high, so high she
marveled and thrilled, and trembled sometimes at the gigantic
fissures and the leaning cliffs.

Suddenly she spotted what appeared to be little steps cut in
the rock. She was astounded, could not believe her eyes. But
there they were, one after another, worn, scarcely
distinguishable in the smooth stone. They had been cut by hand.
Intensely absorbed, Janey mounted them, forgetting the fear of
high places and crumbling walls.

Presently she lost the little steps. She halted, breathless
and flushed. Evidently she had climbed far. Before her spread a
level bench most wonderful in its location and isolation. To look
back and down made her gasp. How would she ever descend?

Her quick eye grasped at once that this wide protected bench
could be reached only by the slope up which she had climbed.
Suddenly it dawned upon her that the predominating feature of
this place was its inaccessibility. These little steps had been
cut by cliff dwellers! Her heart beat faster than ever. She had
discovered something. If Randolph had known of this place surely
he would have told her.

Janey began to explore. In the smooth rock she found round
polished holes where grain had been ground centuries before. She
found the stone pestles lying as if a hand had laid them aside
only yesterday. She found the edge of a wall buried in debris.
Little red stones, neatly cut and cemented! High up she sighted a
cliff dwelling pasted like a mud wasp's nest against the shelf of
rock. She had thought this amphitheater level, but it was not. It
began to look as if a great space had been buried by avalanche or
the weathering processes of ages. It would take days to explore
it.

Janey stepped into a hole up to her knee. It appeared to her
the ground had given way under her. Pulling her leg out she was
overcome to discover that she had stepped through a roof over
something. Carefully she brushed aside the dirt and dust. She
found poles of wood, close together, and as rotten as punk.

"Ah--huh! That's something," she ejaculated.

The hole made by her foot stared at her like a black eye. It
spoke. Janey began to thrill and shake. She dropped a little
stone in it. No sound! She tried a large stone. She heard it
strike far down. Then this was a kiva. Well? Then Janey's mind
bristled into action. "Beckyshibeta!" she whispered, in awe.

She sat down, suddenly overcome. She had discovered the
ancient pueblo for which Randolph had been searching so
diligently. It stunned her. How strange! What luck! There seemed
a destiny in the willfulness that had led her to this place. It
must be more than chance.

Then she remembered boasting to Randolph that she would find
Beckyshibeta for him. She had done so. She had not a single
doubt. And suddenly her joy equaled her amazement and transcended
it. What a perfectly wonderful thing for Randolph. She was so
happy she laughed and cried at once. It was not a delusion. Here
opened the black mysterious eye of a kiva.

Janey was consumed with only one desire. To tell Randolph! She
climbed, she ran. The little steps cut in the stone slope had no
terror for her now. In bad places she sat down and slid,
unmindful of her dress or skin. Yet how long it took to get down.
Once on the bench below she could not go fast. It was too rough.
And at that she got more than one knock from a rock. At last she
got round the last corner of wall, out of breath, panting so that
she had to rest a moment.

Randolph was there, digging, digging, digging. Presently he
would have something to dig for. With her breast heaving, Janey
watched him. The moment was somehow rich, sweet, beautiful, far
reaching and inscrutable. Then she cupped her hands and called
through them piercingly.

"Mr.--Randolph."

He heard her, for he straightened up, looked, and then resumed
work with his pick.

"Come! Come over!" called Janey. He looked again, but did not
reply.

"Phillip. Come over!"

Here he quit his labors and leaned upon his pick, evidently
nonplused.

"Phil! Please come!" shrilled Janey.

"No. Not. Never. Nix!" he called, imitating her.

"Phil, I want you," she went on. "Nothing doing."

"If you come over--you--you--you'll have the surprise of your
life."

"I don't care for your kind of surprises, Miss Endicott," he
replied after a jarring pause.

"But you will, I tell you."

"Not on your life!"

"Honest. Only come," she called, now pleadingly.

No answer. Randolph stood like a statue. Janey could hardly
contain herself any longer. He was making it so perfectly
wonderful for her. What a climax! She must lead him to her
discovery. In her excitement she was quite capable of going to
unheard-of limits to accomplish her purpose. Beckyshibeta had
changed the world for Janey. She had no time to stop to analyze
the transformation.

"I'll make you happy, Phil," she trilled, persuadingly.

"You've got another guess coming, Miss Endicott," he said.

What a stubborn creature a man could be anyway! And this one
with his dream of ambition waiting for him! Janey had a wild
notion that she might include herself in the finding of
Beckyshibeta. Assuredly there was need of her discovering herself
now.

"Phillip, dear. Come," she called, despairingly.

"I told you not to go over there," he answered. "Now you can
get back by yourself."

"I'm terribly scared, Phillip. I--I've sort of found
out--something."

"Fly over," he replied, mockingly. "Is that nice--when I want
you?" "Janey Endicott, every word you utter is a lie."

"No. I've stopped lying. Come and see."

"I tell you I'm as unmovable as these rocks," he shouted, in a
tone that signified considerable strain.

He just imagined he was, thought Janey, but still he might
carry his stubbornness to a point of spoiling her little plan.
Nevertheless, if she could not move him now, she would have the
pleasure of keeping it secret longer.

"Phil, dearest," she called.

"You go to the devil!" he yelled, using her very words, but
his tone was vastly different.

"My darling!" cried Janey, at the end of her rope. If that did
not fetch him!

Randolph desperately jumped into the hole he had been digging.
She could see his pick move up and down, with speed that implied
tremendous effort. Janey realized that her plan was useless for
the time being, so she decided she had better husband her
resources and attack him later. What she could not accomplish at
such long range would be easy enough by close contact.

Whereupon she stepped out on the narrow strip. As she did so
her eye, for the first time, caught the perilous depth and the
jagged rocks far beneath. Janey stepped back with a sudden cold
sensation. Life might have grown singularly full all at once, but
death was still only a step away. But she was not one to lose her
head during excitement. She crossed this dangerous bridge with
coolness and courage, taking no chances, and unmindful of her
sore knees. She made it successfully.

Randolph's back was turned. She approached and hiding behind a
large rock, peeped out at him. For what seemed long moments he
did not look. But at last he straightened up and gazed around
evidently to see where she had gone. Janey took good care to keep
hidden. She was tingling all over. He concluded that she had
passed him and gone on out of sight. Then he sat down on the edge
of the hole, removed his sombrero and wiped his face. He sat
there idle, lost in thought. How sad his expression! His trouble
in this unguarded moment was there to read. Janey conquered her
impulse to rush out and tell him there were at least a couple of
reasons why he should be tickled to death. But the moment gave
her a glimpse into his heart. And it stirred Janey so deeply, so
strangely, that she wished to escape being seen by Randolph. At
length, wearily and without hope, he looked again in the
direction he supposed Janey had taken, and then resumed his work.
Janey slipped away noiselessly and rounded the corner of wall
without being seen.

Soon she yielded to a desire to sit down and think about
herself. What had happened? She went over it all. Where had
vanished the delight, the inexplicable joy she had anticipated?
Randolph's sad face had checked her, changed the direction of her
thoughts. She felt so sorry for him that she wanted to weep.
Resuming her journey back to camp she went on a little way, then
stopped again. Something was wrong. Her breast seemed oppressed,
her heart too full. She felt it pound. Surely she had not exerted
herself enough for that. No--the commotion was emotional. She had
sustained an unaccountable transition. She was no longer the old
Janey Endicott. A last time she sat down to fight it out--to face
her soul. After all how easy! Only to be honest! For the first
time in her life, she was honestly, deeply, truly in love. No
need of wild wonderings, of whirling repudiations! She had fallen
in love with this adventure, with the glorious desert, with the
lonely soul-transforming canyons, and with Phillip Randolph.

The instant the solution flashed out of her brooding mind she
knew it was the truth. It seemed annihilation of
self-catastrophe, yet it held a paralyzing sweetness. Janey
received the blow of her consciousness, like a soldier, full in
the face, while she was gazing down the canyon, now magnifying
its gold and purple, its wonderful speaking cliffs.

Then she heard the thud of hoofs. A horse! Startled, she
turned the corner of the wall that separated her from camp. Her
alarm vanished in amazement at sight of a dudish young man
dismounting from a pinto mustang as flashy as its rider. He wore
a ten-gallon sombrero that appeared to make him top heavy; white
moleskin riding trousers, tight at the knees, high shiny boots
and enormous spurs that tripped him as he walked. Janey then
recognized this young man, Bert Durland, the darling of many
week-end parties, a slick, dark, dapper youth just out of
college. Also she heard more thuds of hoofs and voices coming.
Cursing to herself, Janey slipped in behind a section of rock
that had split from the cliff, and ran along it to the far end,
where she crouched down to peep through a crack.

CHAPTER 8

Janey was amazed, curious, resentful at this rude disruption
of her rapture. Bert was a nice kid, but to meet him here! Where
she was alone with Randolph!

Two riders appeared above the bulge of the bench, off to the
left. One was an Indian, leading a pack horse. Presently Janey
made out the second rider to be a woman. Mrs. Durland! No human
creature could have looked more out of place, or uncomfortable,
or ridiculous. Mrs. Durland's marked characteristic had been
dressing and playing a part to improve the family fortunes. Here,
if Janey had not been suddenly furious, she could have shrieked.
They approached camp. The Indian dismounted and began to slip the
pack. Bert went to his mother's assistance. Manifestly it was no
joke to get her off a horse. She was heavy, and looked as if her
bones had stiffened.

"It looks like it sounds. I don't see much of a camp. Mr.
Endicott said his daughter was here with some friends."

"Perhaps this is the guides' camp. We'll look around and find
them. My word! It'll be good to see Janey!"

"Bert, our Indian is riding away!" exclaimed Mrs. Durland, in
alarm.

"I understood he was going to see his family."

"Suppose he doesn't come back? Suppose we don't find Miss
Endicott and party! Here we are in a godforsaken hole a hundred
and ninety miles from a railroad. Nothing but a lot of wild
Indians around. We may get scalped."

"You needn't worry, Mother," returned Bert. "You'd never get
scalped. You can take off your hair and hand it over. I'm the one
to worry."

"Bert Durland! How dare you talk that way? You ought at least
be respectful after my being good enough to let you drag me out
here."

"Pardon, Mother," said the youth, contritely. "I'm sore. This
beastly trip through all that horrible desert! And no sign of
comfort here. It's most annoying."

"Whose fault is it?" queried Mrs. Durland, as she carefully
looked round a rock to see if there were snakes or bugs present.
Then very wearily she sat down.

"Yours," returned young Durland, looking at his drooping
horse. "I suppose I'll have to remove that awful saddle."

"My fault? You miserable boy!" exclaimed his mother, highly
indignant. "You know I'm doing it all for you. Chasing this
worthless girl! I've suffered agonies on this ride. And that
horrid place where we tried to sleep last night! Will I ever
forget it? And this awful sunburn!"

"There's gratitude for you," declared Mrs. Durland,
witheringly. "Here I am trying to make it easy for you. You
who've gone through most of your father's money. Now you make it
appear I'm doing this for myself."

"All right! All right!" said Bert, impatiently. "But don't
blame me for bringing you on this particular wild-goose chase. I
didn't like the idea, believe me. I told you in New York that
Endicott was taking Janey to a tourist hotel. That's what I
believed then."

"Didn't you say Janey told you her father was taking her into
one of the loneliest places in the world?"

"I sure did. Mother, Arizona looks to me to be about half of
the United States. And it's lonely all right, all right. Imagine
fine-combing this desert all to hunt up a girl! That fellow who
charged a hundred dollars for a car ride that scrambled my
insides! I'd like to get hold of him. Mother, I've an idea
Endicott and that trader Bennet were laughing at us up their
sleeves."

"Humph! That dirty-looking trader laughed in my face,"
asserted Mrs. Durland. "And as for the wasting of a whole hundred
dollars that's your fault, too. You never knew how to bargain.
You just threw money away. It drives me mad. You have no
backbone, no stamina. Otherwise you'd have eloped with Janey
before her father ran off with her to this terrible place of
rocks."

"Didn't you try to tell that Indian guide and the car driver
our family history?...Hello! Here comes a white man!
Tough-looking customer!"

"Oh, dear, I hope he isn't a desperado," replied Mrs. Durland,
in alarm.

This last from mother to son tickled Janey so keenly that she
was hard put to it to keep from side-splitting laughter. She
peeped round the edge of her covert. Yes, Phil was coming. He had
spied the visitors, and he was peering everywhere for Janey.

"How do you do," greeted Randolph, as he came up. "Your Indian
told me of your arrival."

"Very nice of him to find someone," returned Mrs. Durland,
gratefully.

"Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

"Mrs. Percival Smith Durland, of New York, and her son
Bertrand. Of course you've heard of us."

"I regret to say I never have."

Janey giggled inwardly at this slight, because she had more
than once told Phil about the Durlands.

"Indeed. I see. You've never been away from this raw crude
Arizona," replied Mrs. Durland, apologizing for his ignorance.
"Do many tourists come here to this Becky--something or
other?"

"Very few. We don't encourage them."

"There, Mother. I told you so," broke in Bert, who had been
staring hard at Randolph.

"Is there any resort for tourists near?" asked Mrs. Durland.

"Bennet's trading post is the nearest habitation of white
folks. But you'd hardly call it a resort."

"I should say not. We stopped there to get ready for this
trip...May I ask your name?"

"Phillip Randolph, at your service, Madam."

"Randolph? Surely that's the name we heard. You're an
archaeologist, I understand."

"Yes, Madam," returned Randolph, shortly.

"Work for the government, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you're the Mr. Randolph. Well, I'm sorry for you. There's
a Mr. Elliot at the post now. He came the day we arrived. He's
from Washington, D.C. I heard Mr. Bennet say he was furious that
you had gone to this Becky--place before the time scheduled, and
it would likely cost you your job."

"Mr. Elliot at the post! Well, that is a surprise," returned
Randolph, quite perturbed.

"I daresay. It's too bad. I'm sorry for you. But you might
find decent work somewhere. You look stronger than those
bowlegged cowboys."

"Thank you. Yes, I think I am rather strong. You spoke of
cowboys. Were they--did you see any round the post?"

"Cowboys! I rather think so. They nearly rode us down. Stopped
our car to keep us from being killed by stampeding cattle. One of
them was tow-headed, and pretty fresh, to say the least."

"Cattle stampede! Oh, Lord!" muttered Randolph, in
distress.

"What did you say?" asked Mrs. Durland.

"I--I was just talking to myself," replied Randolph, hastily.

"We are looking for Miss Janey Endicott and her party,"
interrupted Bert, with importance. "I'll give you ten dollars to
guide us to her camp."

"There you go, Bert Durland, flinging money to the four
winds," declared his mother.

"Miss Janey Endicott and party!" echoed Randolph.

"That's what I said," returned the young man, testily. "Mr.
Endicott informed me. I'm a very dear friend of Janey's--in fact
of the family."

"Did Endicott say how many were in the party?" inquired
Randolph.

"No. I gathered there were several. People from the post.
Where are they camped?"

"Not here. I have not seen any--party. Do you mean you've
ridden all the way out here to see Miss Endicott?"

"Oh, dear, this generation. No appreciation of art or love of
the beautiful!"

"I'll have a look up the canyon to see if Miss Endicott--and
party--are camped near," said Randolph, moving away with Mrs.
Durland.

Bert unsaddled his horse. Janey, convinced that the Durlands
would find her sooner or later, preferred to surprise Bert. So she
took advantage of his occupation with horse and saddle to run
back the way she had come. Then she boldly turned round the
corner. Durland was sauntering here and there, inspecting the
camp, plainly nonplused. Presently he heard Janey's step and
wheeled.

"In the years I've lived here with my husband, I never saw the
like of you," declared Janey. "Either you're an escaped lunatic
or a college freshman--trying to impersonate Hopalong Cassidy.
I'm going to call my husband."

"Go ahead. It'll be great when Mother sees you. Janey, it's
your wheels that are twisted, not mine." Then he seemed to become
genuinely concerned. "You know, Janey, you do look strained and
queer. My God! You might have lost your memory!"

Janey backed away trying to elude him, but he moved to stand
in front of her.

"No, you won't escape that way. I'm going to make you
remember."

"Let me by!" cried Janey, wildly. She was really possessed
with an infernal glee. What would Phil say to this? "Get out, or
I'll have my Phil take care of you."

"Janey, dear, you're strange. Your eyes. Try to concentrate.
I'm Bert. Bert Durland. Something terrible has been done to you
or you'd remember me and how I love you. Why I couldn't hurt a
hair of your lovely head."

Janey kept maneuvering for a loophole to dodge through.

"If you touch me I'll scream!"

Bert made a lunge and captured her, and before Janey could
thwart his intention he had grasped her hand and looked at her
ring. "There! You are Janey Endicott. I know that diamond as well
as if it were my own. It was a present from your father."

"You do it well, Janey, if you're not truly mad. I'm afraid
there's something behind all this, young lady, and I'm going to
find out."

Indeed there was, Janey thought; and never in her wildest
flights of imagination could she have planned anything so good.
She almost wanted to hug Bert for happening along at this
opportune hour. Then voices drew Bert's attention and he hurried
to meet Randolph, of whom Janey caught a glimpse among the
cedars. She ran up the rock slope to hide in a niche where she
could not be easily discovered. When she got herself
satisfactorily crouched she peeped out with eyes that fairly
danced. This was better than any comedy she had ever seen. Bert
and Randolph were approaching. Randolph had a baffled look. His
sweeping gaze about camp explained to Janey one of the reasons he
was so concerned. She wondered what had become of Mrs.
Durland.

Bert viewed the desert camp in dismay. "I'll be damned!" he
ejaculated.

"Will you please produce the young lady?" demanded Randolph,
stiffly.

"She's gone."

"My dear young fellow, she was never here."

"I tell you she was," retorted Durland, angrily. "Janey," he
yelled. "You come back here. This has gone far enough."

"I agree with you," said Randolph.

"She was here. I talked with her, though she denied she was
Janey. She looked awful. Her clothes were soiled and torn--dress
up to her neck. Most disgraceful! And either her reason's gone or
she's a clever actress."

At this point Mrs. Durland appeared, red and puffing.

"Bert--this Mr. Randolph--talks strange," she panted. "He left
me a few minutes ago most unceremoniously. There's no other camp.
Janey isn't here."

"Yes she is, Mother. Or she was a moment ago," asserted Bert,
positively. "But now she's gone."

"Gone! Where?"

"I haven't an idea. She just vanished."

"Why don't you find her? You've chased her long and far--why
not a little more? My son, you act queer."

"There you are," interposed Randolph, with exaggerated
conviction. "Why don't you chase this hallucination of yours? I'm
sorry indeed to see a fine young fellow like you, laboring under
mental aberration."

"What?" snapped Bert.

Randolph turned to Mrs. Durland: "Have you ever had your son
under observation or--er--examined, you know?"

"You--you--commoner! How dare you!" burst out Mrs.
Durland.

"Really, I don't mean offense. If he was all right then it's
the long ride, the heat, the loneliness of the desert. These
things act powerfully upon some persons, especially any who are
not strong mentally and physically."

Bert strode forward to confront Randolph with dark and angry
mien.

"See here, Sir," he said, "cut that stuff. You're trying to
string me. But you can't do it. I tell you there was a girl here
not ten minutes ago. If she wasn't Janey Endicott then I am out
of my head. But it was Janey, and it's she who is crazy. She
doesn't know who she is. She forgot she's engaged to marry
me."

"Engaged to you!" ejaculated Randolph, taken aback.

"Yes, to me. Ask Mother."

Randolph turned bewildered with a voiceless query.

"There was an understanding between my son and Miss Endicott,"
replied Mrs. Durland. "No formal announcement, but all their
friends knew."

Randolph seemed stunned.

"Look here, Randolph," spoke up Bert, suddenly. "Are you a
married man?"

"Certainly not," replied Randolph, surprised into the
truth.

"So! That's it!" shouted Bert, triumphantly. "I've a hunch
you're a damned villain. Wait until I find that girl!" He rushed
to and fro, and finally disappeared round the corner.

"Mrs. Durland, don't you think I had better stop him?" queried
Randolph, in real concern. "This canyon is a big place. He could
get lost or fall off a cliff. He's so slim he could almost slip
down into a gopher hole."

"I don't care what happens," complained Mrs. Durland. "I'm
overcome at this shocking turn of affairs. I'm beginning to think
Janey Endicott was here. The fools men make of themselves over
that girl!...I wish I'd never come to your miserable old ruin.
I'll crumble myself before I get away."

Bert hove in sight at that moment high up on the shelving
rock. Janey had caught sight of him before the others, and she
tried to melt into the niche. But she was a little too
substantial. Part of her protruded and young Durland saw it.

"Aha!" he shouted, leaping down the slope. Janey wanted at
least to show her face, because she was fighting a wild laugh,
but as soon as Bert laid rough hands on her, she blazed with
wrath.

"Here you are. Come out of it," he said, exultantly. "Hey, you
down there. I've found her."

"Let go of me, you--you..." cried Janey.

"You shameless thing! No wonder you can't face me...Out you
come!"

"Let go!--Phillip!" shrieked Janey, as Bert dragged her out.
She wrenched free to glare at him.

"Durland, I'll knock your head off," called Randolph,
loudly.

"So he is your party?" sneered Bert, in jealous contempt. "I'm
on to you, Janey Endicott. This beats any stunt you ever pulled
back East. Came out West for a real kick, eh? Well! Won't it
sound sweet back home?"

"Yes, and you'll be just about the kind to blab about it,"
retorted Janey.

"Come on down here. You've got to face them," he said,
snatching at her.

Durland did not release her even when they reached a level. In
fact, he dragged her in a most undignified, if not actually
brutal way, toward his mother.

"Phil!" cried Janey, in pain and mortification.

Randolph intercepted Durland and gave him a resounding slap
that was certainly equivalent to a blow. Durland went down in a
heap. His grand sombrero rolled in the dust.

Then ensued an awkward silence. Bert went from white to red.
He brushed the dust from his immaculate riding breeches, and
picked up the huge velvet sombrero. Meanwhile Mrs. Durland was
staring in wide-eyed recognition at Janey.

"Well, Mother, do you know the young lady? Was I right or
wrong?"

"Right, Bertrand," snapped Mrs. Durland. Whereupon Bert turned
to the others. "Janey, I've got the goods on you," he said. "You
needn't take the trouble to keep up the farce any longer. What I
can't understand is that your father should tell us you were
here."

"I can't understand that, either," replied Janey, soberly.

"He must have guessed it and hoped I'd rescue you," went on
Bert. "Or else he saw you gone beyond redemption."

"That probably is it, Bert," said Janey, with sweet
meekness.

Randolph appeared the most uncomfortable of the four, although
Mrs. Durland was getting ready to explode.

"Anyway, it's too late," concluded Durland, with
bitterness.

"Randolph, you told me you were not married. 'Certainly not,'
you said."

"Yes, I--did," returned Randolph, haltingly, as if his mind
was not working.

"There! Janey, you swore you were Mrs. Phillip Randolph,
didn't you?" went on the accuser, bolder as he recognized he had
the whip hand.

"Yes, I--did," returned Janey, bending terrible eyes upon
Phillip.

"Miss Endicott!" burst out Mrs. Durland, in accents of horror.
"You're here with this man alone?"

Durland had turned pale at this revelation. His distended
eyes, fast upon Randolph, denoted both fear and anger.

"Your name isn't Randolph?" he queried, apprehensively.

"Looks as if my name is mud," returned Randolph, coming out of
his stupefaction.

"Bert, the truth is he is Black Dick, a notorious character
hereabouts," explained Janey.

"Black Dick! I--heard about him from the driver," rejoined
Durland, apprehensively. "But, Janey, why did you try to deceive
me about yourself? Why didn't you tell me in the first place who
this man was?"

"It was the shame--the ignominy of it all, Bert," she said,
enjoying Randolph's discomfort. "I knew he'd drive you off and I
thought I could get away with that story. I'd rather have died
out here than have--anyone know."

"And he actually kidnaped you?"

"Well, I just guess he did. Ambushed me when I was in camp
with friends on the way here. He caught me alone. Seems he
followed all the way from the post where he'd been watching me
for days. He grabbed me. I fought with all my might. But he was
too much for me. Tied me on a horse. Oh, it was awful! Look at
these black-and-blue marks. These are nothing to others I have
that I--I can't very well show you. I had to ride a whole day and
night in the most terrible storm. When we got here I was more
dead than alive."

"By heaven, it's like a book!" ejaculated Durland. "Kidnaped
you for ransom? Heard about your dad's wealth, of course?"

"No, Bert, it isn't money he's after," declared Janey. "I
imagined that at first. And I offered to give him everything from
ten to a hundred thousand dollars. But the brute would only laugh
and kiss me again. Swears the minute he saw me at the post he
went mad over me."

Bert's consternation and fright were strong, but he
laughed--hysterically--nonetheless. He rocked to and fro.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! It was coming to you--Janey Endicott! Drove
him mad? Ha! Ha! He's only one of many. Prefers making love to
you to a hundred thousand bucks!...By golly, you've finally got
the kick you were always longing for!"

"Bert, I deserve all I'm getting," rejoined Janey, sadly
resigned.

"Why didn't your father get word of this? What is the matter
with your friends?"

"I think they must have been captured by Black Dick's outfit
and are being held."

"My God! And--and where is Randolph, the archaeologist? They
said he was here."

Janey managed a convincing moan. "There was a Mr. Randolph, a
wonderful man, but now he's--he's gone, and there's nobody but
this vicious desperado left."

Bert turned white. "You mean--"

"Hush!" Janey almost screamed. "Don't remind me!"

All this time Randolph had been standing near gazing at them
and absorbing the fantastic dialogue. He had assumed a most
ferocious aspect; and Janey, after a second glance, thought it
was genuine. Then, the Indian guide who had brought the Durlands,
appeared riding through the cedars. Randolph strode to intercept
him and spoke some Indian words in very loud and authoritative
tones. The rider wheeled his horse and disappeared the way he had
come.

"Look!" whispered Janey. "I told you. He's driven off your
guide."

"Janey, I'll beat it and fetch a horse back to save you,"
whispered Bert, breathless with the excitement of the idea, and
he made for his horse.

"Bertrand! Don't leave me!" screamed Mrs. Durland, who had
been listening, pale and mute up to this minute.

Randolph also spotted Durland, and vigorously called him to
come back. But Bert only went the faster. Whereupon Randolph
pulled his gun and fired in the air. Bang! Bang!

"Come hyar," roared Randolph, "or I'll make a sieve out of
you!"

Mrs. Durland gave a loud squawk and promptly fainted. Bert ran
back, very wobbly and livid.

"D-don't kill me--Mr. Dick," he implored. Plain it was the two
shots had brought him realization.

"All right then, but no monkey business," growled Randolph,
flipping up the gun and returning it to his belt. "You better
look after your mother. I reckon being strong-headed doesn't run
in the family."

Whereupon Randolph strode toward Janey. She saw him coming and
went in the opposite direction. Randolph caught up with her at
the corner of the wall.

"Something of a mess, isn't it?" he said, quietly, as he
detained her.

Janey sat down upon a flat rock and fastened solemn eyes upon
him. There did not seem to be need of further pretense, for she
was really distressed, yet she not only welcomed the facts of the
case but also meant to keep on accentuating them.

"Phillip, you have ruined me," she said, tragically.

"Oh, Janey, it can't be as bad as all that," he protested.

"Why didn't you acknowledge me as your wife?" she asked.

"My God! I guess I just didn't think about it. Durland asked
me if I was married. And I said, 'Certainly not.' He suspected,
of course, and I was fool enough to fall into his trap."

"Bert knows many of my friends. He will talk."

"But he said you were engaged to marry him!" ejaculated
Randolph.

"Nonsense! I never was. How could you believe it?"

"I'm afraid I could believe almost anything of you," he
returned, in bitter doubt.

"That has been evident all along," she replied, aloof and
cold. "But it does not mitigate your offense...It might be
possible to keep Bert from talking. But not Mrs. Durland. She's
an old gossip. This little escapade of ours will kill her
ambition to see me Bert's wife. She will get it through her thick
head that it always was impossible. And she'll take her
vindictiveness out on me. She'll ruin my reputation."

"That's an hallucination of yours and my father's. Granted a
certain freedom and license of modern life, it's true all the
same that there are still limits. In her eyes, we've transgressed
the most vital one."

"Not you, Janey. I'm the one to blame."

"That'll do me a lot of good, I don't think," rejoined Janey,
dismally.

"But maybe we can carry out this idea of me being Black Dick.
He's well known on the reservation. Travels round with a
half-breed Piute. They've been known to hold up tourists. Perhaps
I can carry the bluff through."

"You can try, surely. But in my opinion it's a forlorn hope.
Besides the cowboys will trail us. You heard what Mrs. Durland
said. The cowboys evidently changed their plans."

"Your father--er--or something may put them off the track,"
said Randolph, lamely.

"If I ever had any they vanished when you appeared on my
horizon. So did my peace! And now, I may add, my character, too,
is gone."

"Nonsense! What is disgrace nowadays to a man?" retorted
Janey, with supreme contempt. "You ran off with a girl!...It'll
never hurt you. It'd make you more attractive--after I divorce
you!"

"Divorce me?" echoed Randolph, feebly.

"Certainly. You'll have to marry me, at least, to make this
stunt of yours halfway decent. Then I'll get a divorce."

"But if the Black Dick bluff should go over?" he asked,
hopefully.

"Fine for the Durlands," replied Janey. "But I was thinking of
the cowboys and the Bennets after the Durlands go. We can't fool
those sharp-eyed Westerners. However, they may hang you. And I
suppose that would save my reputation, if not the notoriety."

"Hang me! I wish to God they'd come and do it," returned
Randolph. "I'm surely at the end of a rope right now."

"No such luck!" sighed Janey. "You may come out of it scot
free. The woman pays."

"I--I'm most desperately sorry," said Randolph, wringing his
hands. "I'd like to have--somebody--here to choke...But it can't
be so bad. We'll fool or muzzle these Durlands. As for the
Westerners--well, they're not so free at gossip and Arizona is a
long way from New York. You will--"

"What do I care about Beckyshibeta?" he burst out, with sullen
passion. "When you step out of my life there will be nothing
left."

"That is sad--if true," she returned, with proper pity and
constraint. "But you have only yourself to blame."

"Bah!"

"I respected you once--liked you," went on Janey, in merciless
sweetness. "Now you have made me--hate you."

"I could expect nothing else," he said, lifting his head with
dignity. "I am not asking your pity--or even your
forgiveness."

"Oh, as to that, of course I could never forgive. One thing
you've done, an angel herself could not forgive--though I don't
quite fit into that category."

"Not quite," he responded, dryly, and stood up, hard and
stern. "But what's to be done? We're up against these confounded
friends of yours."

"It'll be best to keep them here," replied Janey. "Until
something turns up. Carry on the Black Dick bluff. Let's see what
an actor you can be."

"I'm no actor. I couldn't deceive a child."

"You deceived me," protested Janey. "I imagined you gentle,
kind--the very opposite to what you are. Be natural now. Be a
brute to me, like you were. I'll play up to it. And make these
Durlands pay for butting in on our--what shall I call it?--our
canyon paradise...Be a monster to Mrs. Durland, and scare the
everlasting daylights out of that fortune-hunting young
Romeo."

"That last will be easy," replied Randolph, grimly.

CHAPTER 9

Randolph's preoccupation with himself interfered with his
acting a part. But that very grim aloofness made him the more
convincing and mysterious to the Easterners.

Durland was a picture of astonishment when he saw Janey
staggering into camp under a load of firewood.

"Don't you do it, Janey," he begged. "I'll get the wood." And
leaving his mother, who importuned him to stay, he started off
with Janey.

"Hyar, girl, don't go traipsing out of my sight with that
jackass," growled Randolph, in so natural a tone that Janey knew
he was not masquerading.

Janey hurried back to Randolph, who continued still in a loud
voice: "What're you plotting with that old dame?"

"I was only sympathizing with her," replied Janey.

Bert appeared, carefully carrying a few sticks of firewood, to
avoid soiling his moleskin riding breeches. Randolph noted this
and glared.

"Huh! 'Fraid of dirtying your pants," he snorted, and he
snatched up a blackened frying pan and wiped it brusquely on
Bert's breeches.

That, for present, however, appeared to be the limit of
Randolph's duplicity. He forgot again and lapsed into silence.
Janey helped him get supper. She found it no easy matter to look
dejected and frightened when she felt actually the opposite. She
certainly could stand this situation for a while. It would only
grow more absorbingly amusing and thrilling as time wore on. The
Durlands were completely taken in. They were scared out of their
wits. Janey realized that for the time being her reputation had
been saved. But what if the cowboys came! Or anybody who really
knew Randolph! Janey groaned at the very idea. She was somewhat
dubious about the reaction of the cowboys, especially Ray, to
this kidnaping stunt of Randolph's. But so long as they did not
resort to violence she imagined their advent would heighten the
interest. Cowboys, however, were an unknown quantity to her. It
was quite possible that even she could not stop them in dealing
what they might believe was summary justice to an offender of
desert creed.

"Come and get it," called Randolph, most inhospitably.

"Get--what?" asked Mrs. Durland, startled. The suggestion in
those words and tone did not strike her happily.

"Grub--you tenderfeet!"

Randolph's mood had not hindered his capacity as a good cook,
a fact to which the Durlands, once set down to the meal, amply
attested. For Janey, aside from satisfying honest hunger, the
meal was otherwise a considerable success. Conversation was
lacking until toward the end of supper Randolph told Mrs. Durland
she would probably starve to death and have her bones picked by
coyotes.

"I opened your pack," he added, by way of explanation. "You
must have been going on a day's picnic."

"That Indian ate most of ours," ventured Bert.

"We can always get sheep," said Randolph to himself.

After supper he ordered the Durlands to make their beds at the
foot of the rock slope. Bert asked and obtained permission to cut
some cedar brush to lay under their blankets. Randolph gathered
firewood, while Janey rested aside, dreaming and watching. When
the shadows of the canyon twilight stole down, accentuating the
loneliness, Randolph stalked away.

"What a strange--desperado!" exclaimed Mrs. Durland. "I think
he must have been someone very different once. That fellow has
breeding. A woman can always tell."

"Black Dick is the most gentlemanly outlaw in these parts,"
replied Janey. "Despite his habit of killing people," she added
hastily.

"Janey, I apologize for all the nasty remarks I made," said
Bert. "If we get out of this alive--why, everything can be as it
was before."

"Ah-huh," returned Janey, dreamily. Nothing could ever be the
same again. The future and the world had been transfigured
prodigiously. But she wanted the present to last, even if she
were compelled to stand for more love-making from Bert Durland.
The young man, however, was still a little too perturbed over
Black Dick to grow sentimental.

"Where does he sleep?" asked Mrs. Durland, anxiously.

"Black Dick? Oh, when he sleeps at all it's right by the fire.
But he's an--an owl."

"Where's your bed?" asked Bert.

"Mine is high up on this ledge behind," replied Janey.

"Couldn't you let Bert fetch it down by ours?" inquired the
mother.

"Black Dick might not like that."

A bright campfire dispelled the gloom under the cliff if not
that in the minds of the captives. Janey, at last, stole away to
be alone. Her heart was full--full of what she knew not. Yet some
of it was mischief and a great overwhelming lot was a deep rich
emotion that seemed strange and stingingly sweet. It threatened
to take charge of her wholly; therefore, rebelliously, finding it
real and true, not to be denied, she compromised by putting off
resignation until later. Very difficult was it to crush down this
feeling, to resist the most amazingly kindly feelings toward the
Durlands, to scorn forgiving her poor old dad, who had erred only
in his love for her, and to fight off generally an avalanche of
softness.

What could be expected to happen?--that was the question.
Randolph had settled down to a waiting game, and he would stick
there if they all starved. After all, he had been tempted into
this thing; there were excuses for him, though, of course, no
excuse whatever for the atrocious punishment he had meted out to
her. The mask of night hid Janey's blush, but she felt its heat.
Contemplation of that would not stay before her
consciousness.

Indians might drop in upon them, or tourists, or sheepmen, or
possibly roving riders of doubtful character. The possibility of
any or all of these occurrences was remote, but anything could
happen. The cowboys would surely come. Janey wanted that, yet she
feared it. There was no hope of Randolph keeping up his deception
for any considerable length of time. So Janey was in a quandary.
She wanted the Durlands to have a good scare and leave Arizona
under the impression they now entertained. She wanted dire and
multiple punishments to fall upon Randolph's head. If it pleased
her to assuage them later, that was aside from the question. If
he could be reduced to abject abasement, to want really to be
hanged, as he said, to taste the very bitterest of repentance,
then would be the time for her denouement. For although he had
not the slightest inkling, even the remotest hope, of his two
driving passions, Janey knew. Janey herself had done the
discovering of Beckyshibeta and of the true state of her heart,
but that did not make them any the less his. What a profound
thought! Janey trembled with it. There was a bigness about these
discoveries that began to divorce her from the old Janey
Endicott. She would, she must, have her revenge; she fought this
subtle changing, as it seemed, of her very nature. She still
hated, but the trouble was she could not be sure what. Janey
sighed. Oh, what a fall this would be! Janey Endicott, on a
pedestal of modern thought, freedom, independence,
equality--crash!

Nevertheless, despite everything, Janey sought her bed, happy.
For a while she sat on the ledge and gazed down into the campfire
lightened circle. Mrs. Durland and her son huddled there, keeping
the blaze bright, whispering, gazing furtively out into the black
shadows, obviously afraid to seek their beds. Presently Randolph
strode out of the gloom. Janey tingled at sight of him. She
marveled at herself--that any man could make her feel as she
did.

"Madam, the hour grows late," declared Randolph, harshly, to
the cowering woman. "Must I put you to bed?"

Whereupon Mrs. Durland made hasty retreat to her bed, which
was under the ledge out of Janey's sight.

"Young fellar, you sit up and keep watch," continued Randolph,
as he unrolled his camp bed near the fire. "And remember, no
shenanigans. I always sleep with one eye open."

When Janey took a last look, Randolph appeared to be sleeping
peacefully while Bert was nailed to the martyrdom of night
watch.

The shadows flickered above Janey on the stone wall, played
and danced and limned stories there. If she could have chosen she
would rather have been here in this bed than anywhere else in the
world. But all the strangeness and sweetness of the present at
Beckyshibeta could not suffice to keep her awake.

Janey's slumbers were disrupted by a loud voice. Randolph was
calling his captives to breakfast. Janey sat up and made herself
as presentable as possible. The face that smiled at her from the
little mirror did not require make-up. It was acquiring a
beautiful golden tan. Her eyes danced with delight.

She went down to breakfast. Randolph did not glance up, at
least while she was close. Bert was heavy-eyed and somber, and
Mrs. Durland was a wreck.

"I sure have," returned Janey, and then ate her breakfast with
a will.

"Lord preserve me from another such night," prayed Mrs.
Durland, fervently. "I lay on the rocks--turned from side to
side. My body is full of holes, I know. Mosquitoes devoured me.
Some kind of animals crawled over me. I nearly froze to death.
And I never closed an eye."

"That's too bad," replied Janey. "But you'll get used to it
after a while. Won't she, Mr. Black Dick?"

"Wise men say a human being can get used to any kind of
suffering, but I don't believe it myself," astonishingly replied
the supposed outlaw, with somber accusing eyes piercing Janey in
a quick look.

"Mr. Black Dick, you were a better man once?" ventured Mrs.
Durland, almost with sympathy.

"Yes. Much better. I was ruined by a woman," he replied,
somberly.

This startling revelation enjoined silence for a while, which
was broken by the sound of hoofs cracking the rocks.

"Indians coming down the canyon," said Randolph, who had
arisen.

"Oh, gracious! Are they hostile?" cried Mrs. Durland.

"Well, about half-friendly Navajos," returned Randolph.

Three picturesque riders rode from the cedars into camp. One
of them, particularly, caught Janey's eye, as he dismounted in a
sinuous action. He was tall with a ponderous head that made him
appear top heavy. He wore brown moccasins, corduroy trousers, a
leather belt with large silver buckle and shields, and a
maroon-colored velveteen shirt. His huge sombrero with ornamented
band hid his features, but Janey could discern that his face was
red.

"Better eat while the eating is good," warned Randolph.

Then he spoke to the Indians in Navajo. Their actions then
signified that he had asked them to partake of the meal. Janey
was glad she had about finished hers. The meat, the biscuits, the
potatoes disappeared as if by magic. Mrs. Durland, who had filled
her plate, but had scarcely tasted anything, appeared electrified
to see her portion of breakfast disappear with the rest. To do
the Indians justice, however, she was not holding the plate at
the moment. She had set it on a rock by the campfire.

"Ugh!" grunted the big Indian after each bite. Randolph had
made fair-sized biscuits, but one bite sufficed for each.

"That wretch appropriated all my breakfast," declared Mrs.
Durland, astounded and angry. Evidently she took it for granted
that these Navajos could neither speak nor understand
English.

"Of all the hogs!" ejaculated young Durland. "Mother, that
Indian made away with nine biscuits. I counted them."

"Mr. Dick said they were half friendly," complained Mrs.
Durland. "I declare I don't see it."

Randolph contrived in an aside to whisper to Janey: "That big
Indian is smart. Keep your mouth shut and for that matter stay
right here."

Presently Janey had opportunity to get a good look at him. The
sobriquet was felicitous. He certainly had a face that resembled
a ham. But it was also a record for desert life. Janey could not
decide whether he was young or old. He had great black eyes,
piercing and bold, yet somehow melancholy. There were sloping
lines of strength and he had a thoughtful brow. Seating himself
before Mrs. Durland he spoke to her in Navajo.

"What'd he say?" she asked, half fascinated and half
frightened.

"Mrs. Durland, I regret I do not translate Navajo well,"
replied Randolph. "But he wanted to know something or other about
why you wore men's pants."

Janey did not believe a word of that. She could tell when Phil
was lying.

"The impudent savage!" ejaculated the woman, indignantly.

Ham-face addressed her again, gravely, with a face like a
mask.

"He wants to know if you are any man's squaw," explained
Randolph.

"Mother, you've made a conquest," laughed young Durland.

That affronted his mother who got up from beside the Navajo
and left the campfire. Ham-face followed her, much fascinated,
evidently, by her general appearance. It was to be admitted,
Janey thought, that Mrs. Durland in tailored riding breeches,
much too small for her portly figure, was nothing, if not a
spectacle. When she became aware she was being followed she grew
greatly perturbed, and hastened this way and that, though not far
from the others. Ham-face pursued her.

"What's the fool traipsing after me for?" she cried.

Finally in sheer fright she came back to the seat beside her
son, and sat there fuming, tapping the ground with her boot.
Ham-face continued to walk around her and study her with grave
eyes.

The three Navajos appeared to be in no hurry. Ham-face kept
devoting himself to Mrs. Durland, while the other two smoked
cigarettes and talked in low tones to Randolph. Janey had taken
refuge behind the packs, from which only her head protruded. Bert
was interested despite his alarm. At length Ham-face's attention
to Mrs. Durland became so marked that the nervous high-strung
woman burst into a tirade that might have been directed at the
whole Indian race.

Ham-face imperturbably lighted a cigarette and blew a puff of
smoke upward. "Pardon me, Madam, if I seem to stare," he remarked
in English as fluent as her own. "But you are the most
peculiar-looking old lady I've seen. I'd like to introduce you to
my squaws. When I was in New York and Paris, during the war, I
met some modern up-to-date women, but you've got them beaten a
mile!"

Mrs. Durland's jaw dropped, her eyes popped, and with a gasp
she collapsed. Janey, standing behind the packs, stuffed her
handkerchief in her mouth to keep from shouting in glee. Ham-face
was assuredly one of the educated Navajos whom the cowboys had
mentioned.

After that he ceased annoying Mrs. Durland, but presently,
after an enigmatical look at Janey, he joined Randolph and his
two comrades near the horses. They conversed a little longer.
Then the Indians mounted and rode away. Ham-face turned to wave a
hand at Mrs. Durland.

"Adios, little Eva," he called.

When they disappeared Mrs. Durland came out of her trance.

"That long-haired dirty ragged savage!" she raged. "To think
he understood every word I uttered and then talked just like a
white man!...He added insult to injury. Oh, this hideous Arizona
with its lying traders, cowboys, Indians, outlaws and
pitfalls!...Oh, my son, my son, get me out of this mess!"

"Mother, I've a feeling the worst is yet to come," replied her
young hopeful.

Janey got up from where she had sprawled, and tried to catch
Randolph's eye. But his face was averted and he stood motionless
in a strained attitude of one listening.

"What is it?" whispered Janey.

"I thought I heard a horse," he replied. "Not the Indians'. It
came from down the canyon."

Janey's heart skipped beating and then leaped. Turning, she
saw two men in rough rider's garb. The foremost was heavy and
broad, with what seemed a black blotch for a face. He held a gun
which was pointed at Randolph.

"Business is lookin' up," remarked Black Dick, with
satisfaction. "Now Snitz, hand all that over to me, an' hey a
look at this gurl. Looks to me she'd have a million--if you jedge
by eyes...Ain't she a looker?"

As Snitz approached Janey, grinning, eager, full of the devil
as well as greed, she suddenly became terrified. This was not so
funny.

"Phil!" she cried. "Don't let him touch me."

"Be sensible, child. They've held us up," admonished
Randolph.

Janey slipped off her diamond ring and stretched it out at the
length of her arm and let it drop in Snitz's palm.

"That's all I've got. Honest," she said, earnestly, in the
stress of wanting to escape those rude hands.

"Little gurl, you don't look like a prevaricateer, but we jest
can't trust you," returned Black Dick, soothingly.

"Peachy, if you run it'll be the wuss for you," added Snitz,
reaching for her.

His touch, following the devilish little gleam in his eye,
inflamed Janey. With one wrench she tore free and struck at Snitz
with all her might. A quick duck of head just saved him.

"Whew!" he ejaculated, astounded and checked.

"Wow!" added Black Dick, in gleeful admiration. "She strikes
like a sidewinder, Snitz. If that one had landed you'd hev
knowed it...Wal, now what a fiery wench!"

Black Dick guffawed uproariously, while Snitz, though he
joined in the mirth, took her seriously.

"Who'd a thunk it, boss?" he said. "Look at that tight little
fist an' the way she swings it."

"Wal, I reckon I'm noticin'," added the leader, sheathing his
gun and approaching. "We gotta be gennelmen, you know,
Snitz...See hyar, mighty little gurl, are you tellin' us true?
You hain't nothin' on you but this ring?"

"That's all," returned Janey, breathing hard. "Wal, turn round
fer inspection," he ordered. Janey did as she was bidden.

"Do it again, an' not so damn fast. This ain't no
merry-go-round."

Whereupon Janey, realizing that she was to escape indignity,
turned for their edification like a dress model in the Grande
Maison de Blanc.

"Snitz," he said to his lieutenant, "you go diggin' round an'
see if thar's anythin' more wuth takin'."

Then he confronted the dejected and crushed Mrs. Durland.
"Look ahyar, lady," he began. "Your gurl says she's eighteen
years old. An' I'm tellin' you she hain't been brought up decent.
Wearin' sech clothes out hyar in the desert! Why, it ain't
respectable. An' it ain't safe, neither. You might meet up with
some hombres thet was not gennelmen like me an' Snitz."

Mrs. Durland was spurred out of her apathy into a wrathful
astonishment that rendered her mute. Black Dick evidently saw
that he had made a profound impression.

"I took her fer a kid, like them I see in town, wearin' white
cotton socks thet leave their legs bare," he said. "An' hyar
she's of age. There ought to be somethin' done about it. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself to let your dotter run around
like thet."

"Excoose me, lady. I had a hunch she was sister to this dude
you've got with you," returned Black Dick, coolly. "Come to think
aboot it I might have known from her looks."

Snitz approached at this moment, carrying various articles he
had taken from Mrs. Durland's saddle. One of them was a light
handbag, which Black Dick promptly turned inside out. It
contained gloves, handkerchief, powder puff, cosmetics, and a
magazine with a highly colored front page. The robber kept this
and returned the other things.

"Snitz, you poke around some more," he said laconically, and
turned to Janey. She, from her perch on the packs, had expected
this and prepared herself with sad face and tearful eyes.

"Wot's your name?" he asked.

"Janey."

"Kind of suits you somehow...Wot you cryin' aboot?"

"I'm very scared and unhappy."

"Scared? Of me?"

"Oh no. I'm not afraid of you. I think you're a real man. But
these people have kidnaped me--to get money out of my
father."

"Ahuh. Wot'd this fellar Randolph pretend he was me fer?"
asked Black Dick, growing more and more curious.

"I suppose to intimidate me. But he wasn't a bit like
you."

"So thet old bird is a kidnaper?" mused Black Dick, darkly.
"An' Randolph's been roped in the deal. Wal, I'll be doggoned.
Shore are a lot of mean people. Now, I'm only an old desert pack
rat, snoopin' round when I get broke, but I could see you was a
nice girl. Kidnapin' wimmen fer money shore ain't in my line. I
was jest throwed off a little by your dress bein' so short."

"Thank you, Mr. Black Dick," said Janey, thinking that never
had she received more sincere approval.

"Wal, we'll see wot can be did with this old hen," said the
robber. Then he happened to notice Randolph sitting there as if
he had not a friend in the world.

"Say, Randolph, my Navvy friends tipped me off aboot these
pickin's. And what were you up to? Don't you reckon it's
dangerous pretendin' to be me? There are men who'd shoot at you
fer it."

"I never thought of that at the time," returned Randolph,
lowering his voice. "The honest truth is I was just in fun. And
I'm not so sure it was all my idea."

Then they got their heads together and conversed in such low
tones that Janey could not hear any more.

Janey had observed that these men, despite the earlier action
of robbing the party, and their later antics, took occasion now
and then to gaze up and down the canyon. The younger one, Snitz,
was particularly keen. These outlaws expected someone to come
along or else were just habitually cautious and watchful.

Black Dick and Snitz sat down close together, with the
magazine on the former's knees. They had the air of guilty
gleeful schoolboys about to partake in a thrilling and forbidden
act. They made a picture Janey would never forget, and reminded
her of the mischievous cowboys. All these natives of Arizona had
some inimitable Western quality, the keynote of which was
fun.

They turned a page and giggled. Then Black Dick looked up,
swept the immediate horizon, and happening to see Janey, he waved
a hand, as if to tell her to go away far back somewhere and leave
them to their joy. Dick turned another page; and they whispered
argumentatively. Another page brought a loud gasp from Snitz and
something that sounded very much like an oath from Black Dick.
Then they were as petrified.

"Snitz, this hyar all ain't so damn funny. Thet's the fust
picture of this kind I've seen since the war. Wal, time changes
every-thin'...But, Snitz, we ain't so bad off. Shore, we're often
hungry an' oftener broke waitin' fer a chance like this, an'
we're dirty an' unshaved, with a few sheriffs lookin' fer us; but
I'm damned if I'd change places with any of them people--even
thet photoggrapher. Would you?"

"Nary time, Dick. Give me a hoss an' the open country,"
replied Snitz, rising to take a look up and down the canyon.
Black Dick's ox eyes rolled and set under a rugged frown.
Evidently in the magazine he had been confronted with a
mysterious and perplexing world. Janey decided about this time
that this desert rat several sheriffs were looking for was not
half a bad fellow.

Presently Mrs. Durland called them to the meal she had been
forced to prepare. Her face was very red and there was a black
smudge on her nose, but she faced them with confidence. Snitz let
out a whoop and alighted on the ground with his legs tucked under
him--a marvelous performance considering the long spurs. Black
Dick surveyed the white tablecloth spread upon the tarpaulin and
the varied assortment of cooked and uncooked food.

"Wal, if I ain't dreamin' now I'll have a nightmare soon," he
said, and squatted down. Snitz had already begun to eat. Dick,
observing that he had not unfolded his napkin, took it up and
handed it to him.

"Wot's--thet?" asked Snitz, with his mouth full.

"You ignorramus. Sometimes I wonder if your mother wasn't a
cow...Wal, I never had indigestion or colic, but I'm goin'
through hyar if it kills me."

Janey had seen hungry cowboys eat, to her amazement and
delight, but they could not hold a candle to these outlawed
riders of the range. Their gastronomic feats were bewildering,
even alarming to see. Not a shadow of doubt was there that Mrs.
Durland had served concoctions cunningly devised and mixed to
make these men ill, if not poison them outright. Sandwiches,
cakes, sardines, cheese, olives, pickles, jam, crackers,
disappeared alike with hot biscuits, ham, potatoes, and baked
beans. When they had absolutely cleaned the platter Black Dick
arose and quaintly doffed his sombrero to Mrs. Durland.

"Madam, you may be a disreputable person, but you shore can
hand out the grub," he said.

Snitz had arisen also, but his attention was on the far break
of the canyon, where clouds of dust appeared to be rising.

"Look at that, pard," he said.

"Ahuh. Get up high somewheres, so you can see," returned Dick,
and strode toward the horses that had strayed to the cedars. When
he led them back Snitz had come down from the ledge.

"Bunch of cowpunchers ridin' up the canyon," he announced.

"Wal, we seen 'em fust," said his comrade, mounting. Then he
surveyed the expectant group before him. "Madam, I reckon I'll
never survive thet dinner you spread. Randolph, if you ain't in
fer a necktie party, I don't know cowpunchers. Miss Janey, so
long an' good luck to you. Bert-ie, if we ever meet again, I'm
gonna shoot at them white pants."

He rode away. Snitz, swinging to the saddle, flashed his red
face in a devilish grin at Janey.

"Good-by, peachy," he called, meaningly. "I'd shore love to
see more of you."

Spurring his horse he soon caught up with Black Dick. Together
they rode into the cedars and disappeared up the canyon.

"Thank God, they're gone!" cried Mrs. Durland, sinking in a
heap. "Gone with every dollar--every diamond I possessed!...Bert
Durland, you will rue this day."

Janey had been realizing the return of strong feeling. It did
not easily gain possession of her at once. The cowboys were
coming. And that recalled the bitter shame and humiliation
Randolph had heaped upon her. How impossible to forgive or
forget! The anger within her was like a hot knot of nerves
suddenly exposed. She hated him, and the emotions that had
developed since were as if they had never been.

"Mr. Randolph, the cowboys are coming," she said,
significantly, turning to him.

"So I heard," he replied, curtly. He looked hard and he was
slightly pale. Perhaps he appreciated more than she what he was
in for. Janey was disappointed that he did not appeal to her. But
she would only have mocked him and perhaps he knew that.

The dust clouds approached, rolling up out of the cedars.
Crack of iron-shod hoof on rock, the crash of brush, and rolling
of stones were certainly musical sounds to Janey. There was
something else, too, but what she could not divine. She knew her
heart beat fast. When Ray rode out of the cedars, at the head of
the cowboys, it gave a spasmodic leap and then seemed to stand
still. How strange a thought accompanied that! She wished they
had not come. They did not appear to be a rollicking troupe of
gay cowboys; they were grim men. It was very unusual for these
cowboys to be silent.

Ray halted his horse some little distance off, and his
companions closed in behind. His hawk eyes had taken in the
Durlands. Janey noted what a start this gave him. She heard them
speaking low. Then Ray dismounted, gun in hand. That gave Janey a
shock. This lout of a cowboy, whom she could twist round her
little finger, seemed another and a vastly different person. They
all slid off their horses.

"Reckon Randolph's got a gun, but he won't throw it," said
Ray. "Wait till I...see who these people are."

He strode over to confront Mrs. Durland and Bert.

"Who are you people?" he asked, bluntly.

"I am Mrs. Percival Durland, of New York, and this is my son
Bertrand," she replied, with dignity.

"How did you get heah?"

"We employed an Indian guide."

"How long have you been heah?"

"It seems a long time, but in fact it is only a couple of
days."

"What'd you come for?"

"We used to be friends of Miss Endicott," returned Mrs.
Durland, significantly. "We heard at the post she was out here,
so we came--to my bitter regret and shame."

"Leave! Where and how? That man drove our guide away. We can't
saddle and pack horses, and much less find our way out of this
hellish hole."

"Take yourself off then, out of sight," he continued, harshly,
and turned to come toward Randolph and Janey, his gun low, but
unmistakably menacing. Diego, Mojave, Zoroaster, and Tay-Tay came
striding after him. The musical jingling of their spurs did not
harmonize with their demeanor.

Ray fixed Janey with a cold penetrating stare. She realized
that for him, as a glorious entity--a girl to worship--she had
ceased to exist. This escapade of Randolph's had ruined her with
Ray beyond redemption. Janey was afraid to look in the faces of
the others, for fear she would see the same condemnation. It was
a sickening conception. It added fuel to the fire of her roused
wrath at the perpetrator of this situation.

"You beat it," ordered Ray, with a slight motion of his gun,
signifying that Janey was to get out.

"What for?" she asked, sharply.

"This heah ain't no place for a--a woman," he replied. He was
going to say lady. Janey saw the word forming on his lips, but he
changed it. She was no longer an object of respect, even to these
crude cowboys. Her spirit flamed at them, at herself, at
Randolph.

He gave her a strange glance. What eyes he had--like hot
blades! No man had ever dared to look at her with such unveiled
disillusion.

"Randolph, stand up an' stick out your hands," ordered Ray.
The archaeologist looked up, disclosing a dark set face and eyes
that matched the cowboy's!

"You go to hell," he replied, coolly. "Fellars, jerk him up
off thet pack an' tie his hands behind him."

This order was carried out almost as soon as Ray had spoken.
Randolph was a bound man.

"Thanks," returned Ray. "But I ain't aimin' to go where you
belong...We don't care pertickler to heah your musical voice
either, but if you're any kind of man you'll say whether you
kidnaped Miss Endicott or not."

They moved off in a body toward the cedars, leaving Janey
almost paralyzed. She saw them stop under one of the first trees.
They were talking in low tones. Evidently Randolph spoke. The
cowboys guffawed in ridicule. Then Mrs. Durland and Bert hurried
up to Janey.

"What are they going to do?" panted Mrs. Durland.

"Hang him," whispered Janey, in awe.

"Serve him quite right," declared the woman, nodding in great
satisfaction. "If only they had that dirty Black Dick, too!"

Janey broke from her trance and ran the short distance to the
group. She heard the Durlands following. Janey would have been at
her wit's end without the fright that had inhibited her.
Certainly she would have to do something. If she gave way to a
growing idea that the situation was beyond her--what might not
happen? She gathered there had been an argument between Ray and
the cowboys, for she heard sharp words on each side, and then
suddenly at her approach they were silent. Randolph appeared less
upset than any of them. The look of Ray gave Janey an icy chill.
She had not been much frightened at Black Dick. But this
lean-faced cowboy! All in a flash her hatred of Randolph and her
unworthy passion for revenge were as if they had never been. She
seemed as vacillating as a weather vane.

"Ray--wh-what are you going to do to him?" she asked,
struggling to control her voice.

"We're going to make it the last time this fake scientist
kidnaps a girl," replied Ray.

"But--that rope! You can't really hang a man for so little.
Why, you'd hang too if you did such a thing. There'd be an
investigation."

"Real kind of you, Miss, to worry aboot us," returned Ray,
ironically. "Duty and the law are one and the same in Arizona. By
hangin' this fellar we save the government expenses of keeping
him in jail."

"But he didn't do anything so--so very terrible," went on
Janey, still struggling.

"Wal, thet's plenty. But it shore wasn't all--now, was it?"
questioned the cowboy, his piercing suspicious eyes on hers. His
jealousy probed the secret and his naturally primitive mind made
deductions.

Janey blushed a burning scarlet. It was a hateful thing to
feel before those keen-eyed boys who had revered her. It had as
much to do with an upflashing of furious shame as the
recollection of Randolph's one unforgivable indignity.

"Fellars, look at her face. Red as a beet!!" ejaculated Ray,
passionately.

"Aw, Ray, cut it," burst out Mohave.

"Ain't you overdoin' it, Ray?" asked Zoroaster, darkly.

"Y-y-y-y-you--" stuttered Tay-Tay, in unmistakable protest.
But he never achieved coherent speech.

"Damn you all! Shut up!" hissed Ray, in a deadly wrath. If his
comrades meant to intercede on Janey's behalf, at least to save
her from insult, he certainly intimidated them for the time
being.

"Miss Endicott, you can't say honest that Randolph didn't
mistreat you," asserted rather than asked Ray. He was a hard man
to face and Janey, strangely agitated, yet still not roused, was
not equal to it. Besides his words were like stinging salt in a
raw wound.

"Move along, Randolph," ordered Ray, shoving his gun into
Randolph's side. He forced the archaeologist to walk on to a
point under a high-branched cedar. "Somebody throw a rope over
thet limb."

But nobody complied with this order. Again Janey intuitively
guessed that this situation had not been what it looked on the
face. The cowboys were a divided group. Ray was deadly,
implacable. No doubting his real intention! Janey had sensed his
jealousy and now realized his brutality. But another sharp
scrutiny of the other faces convinced Janey that with them it had
been a well-acted jest, which Ray was trying to drive to earnest.
But he would never succeed. Janey racked her brain for some
expedient to circumvent him.

Ray snatched the lasso from Mohave and threw the noose end
over the branch, pulled it down, and with the skillful dexterity
of a cowboy tossed the loop over Randolph's head.

Janey was now almost certain of her ground, except for the
silent Ray.

"Gentlemen, let me decide which of you shall have the honor of
being the first to crack Randolph's neck," interrupted Janey,
with entire change of front.

They gaped at her, nonplused. Ray's tense face relaxed to a
slight sardonic grin. Janey feared him. The majority would rule
here. Besides she had an idea.

"Let me decide, please," she continued.

"F-f-f-fair enough," said Tay-Tay.

"Pick me, Miss Janey. I'm the strongest," entreated Mohave,
who seemed to be returning to his natural self.

The others, excepting Ray, loudly acclaimed their especial
fittingness for the job.

"I can't show any favoritism among you boys," went on Janey.
"Lay down your guns. Then blindfold me. I'll pick one of them up
and whoever owns that gun shall have the first pull."

"Fine idee," declared Mohave, and then deposited his gun at
Janey's feet. One by one the others gravely complied, until it
came to Ray. He held the lasso in one hand and his gun in the
other. Janey feared he would block her daring scheme, which was
to get possession of all the guns and hold up the cowboys.

"Bert!" gasped Mrs. Durland. "She's a barbarian! A fit consort
for the likes of these!...To think I ever allowed you to
anticipate marrying such an impossible creature!"

Slowly the cowboys edged back, and Janey with them. At that
moment Ray was more to be feared than Black Dick had ever been.
Ray had this game beaten and knew it. He exchanged rope and gun
from one hand to the other. With a quick pull he tightened the
noose hard around Randolph's neck, straining his body, lifting
him a little.

"Reckon it's a doubtful honor, but I'll have it myself," he
said, his cold eyes on Janey.

"My God!--Ray! You don't mean to go on with it?" cried Janey,
finding her voice.

He was triumphant and malignant. Fierce jealousy had brought
out the evil in him. Janey had a terrible realization of her
guilt--for she had flirted with this hot-headed cowboy. She had
looked upon him with caressing eyes; she had listened to his
sentimental talk and led him on. What an idiot she had been!
Vain, detestably bent on conquest--heartless, wrong. Ray
resembled a devil and he certainly had overwhelming odds in his
favor. Janey seemed to be sinking in stupefied terror. Almost
blindly she stepped out.

"So, you come willin', huh?" he questioned, with terrible eyes
on Janey. "Liked to be treated out-rag-eous, huh? Wanted a new
different kick, huh?...Wal, now watch your lover kick!"

Ray was a bully and a brute. But he did not know the fiber of
the girl he had so grossly insulted. That was all Janey required
to find herself. As Ray bent down to stretch the lasso over his
hip, dragging Randolph to the tip of his toes, she sprang
forward. She grasped the tightening rope above Randolph's head
and pulled it loose. Then she confronted Ray.

"Stop, you madman!" she cried, imperiously. "Don't you
dare--If you do I'll kill you!"

CHAPTER 11

The instant Janey had a close scrutiny of her father's face,
which was when he reined his horse before the group, she knew his
gay greeting and nonchalant survey of them had no depth. He had
always been a capital actor, but he could not deceive his
daughter.

"Hello, Janey," he had called out, before reaching them. "How
are you? Little white, aren't you, for a modern amazon?"

Janey's emotion, whatever its great extent, suffered a swift
transition to fury. Nevertheless she had wit enough to remember
that this was no time to play against her father. Her cue was to
be miserable and happy at one and the same time. At that she need
only be natural.

"Howdy, Phillip," said Endicott, genially, sitting his horse
at ease and gazing down upon the center of this motionless group.
"Bet you're glad I arrived. Sorry we are rather late. But that
darned storm turned us back."

Janey removed herself from Randolph's proximity. What had she
said and done? She did not regret it, but the lofty spirit, which
had prompted it, was failing. Randolph stood there, pale, with
gleaming eyes and bloody lips, his hands still bound behind him.
The noose that Janey had thrown off dangled not far above his
head. The cowboys stood on uneasy feet. Ray still held his gun,
and it was manifest that a dim realization of his part in this
farce had dawned upon him. He was sweating now. The guns of the
other cowboys lay where they had deposited them.

Mr. Endicott surveyed this scene with the air of a Westerner
of long experience. He was too cool. Then he spotted the
Durlands, and doffed his sombrero.

"Good day, Mrs. Durland. Hello, Bert. I hope you have had a
nice little visit with Janey and her fiancé."

If anything could have struck fire from Mrs. Durland that
speech might have done so, but she was beyond words. But Bert,
now that danger had passed, showed an ugly temper.

"We've had a rotten visit, if you want to know," he howled.
"We've been deceived, insulted, beaten and robbed."

"We were held up and robbed by Black Dick and his partner,"
continued Bert, hotly.

"All my diamonds--and money--gone!" wailed Mrs. Durland.

"Indeed. That's too bad. It's something of a shock," returned
Endicott, solicitously. "But I'll make your losses good. You see,
I didn't calculate on a real desperado." Here he laughed. "It's
all a little joke of mine. I wanted Janey to have a scare. So I
persuaded Randolph to run off with her. My plan was to send the
cowboys the very same day. But they didn't get back, and when
they did the washes were flooded by the storm."

"Somebody untie my hands," called out Randolph, cutting and
grim. "I'll show you what kind of a joke it was."

Mohave was the cowboy who complied with the request, and it
was plain he was nervous. He whispered something to Randolph. But
it did not prevent Randolph, the instant he was free, from making
long strides to confront Ray.

"You're a skunk," said Randolph, deliberately. "I always had
you figured as a bully and a conceited ass of a cowboy--mushy
over every girl who ever came out here. But not till today did I
know you to be a dirty foul-mouthed rat. You--"

"Hold on, Randolph," interrupted Endicott, aghast. "I told you
I was to blame. Ray was only following my instructions."

Bennet began to see something serious in the situation. And he
took his hint more from Ray's face than Randolph's words.
Slipping out of his saddle he strode quickly to get between the
men. Randolph gave him a shove that almost upset him.

"Don't you butt in. You're a little late to save me the
rottenest deal any man ever got. And you're a lot too late to
save this cowpuncher of yours from the damndest kind of a
beating."

Suddenly Randolph, in a pantherish spring, leaped upon Ray,
and caught his arm just as he was lifting it with the gun.
Randolph threw all his weight upon that gun arm, forced it down.
Ray struggled and cursing yelled: "Leggo, er I'll plug you!"

Randolph bent swiftly to fasten his teeth in the dangerous
hand. The cowboy let out a howl of pain and fury. Bang! Bang!
Janey screamed and hid her eyes in horror. She heard the thud of
feet and wrestling of bodies, then hoarse calls from the
onlookers. Her heart seemed to burst. This awful farce was going
to end in a tragedy. Randolph! Terror forced her to open her
eyes. Ray had dropped the gun. The hand Randolph gripped was red
with blood. On the instant Randolph gave the gun a kick. It flew
to the feet of Mohave, who bent and snatched it up. Then
Randolph, releasing Ray, struck him full in the face, with a blow
that sounded like a mallet. Ray went down with a sodden
thump.

Nobody wasted any more words. The spectators were too intense
for speech, and the contestants too mad with rage. Randolph
seemed a man who once in his life had let go. Ray, as he bounded
up like a cat, looked a demon.

He rushed at Randolph and the fight began. Janey could not
watch it, though now she had fascination added to her horror. But
there was enough gentleness left in her to make her shrink
instinctively. She stood there with hands pressed over her eyes.
Thus blinded she could still hear. And the smash of fists, the
scrape of boots, wrestling tussles of hard bodies in contact, the
pants and whistles of furious breathing--these were worse to hear
than to see. How must the battle go? Randolph, the gentleman, the
mild-mannered archaeologist, would surely be worsted by a younger
man and one inured to all the roughness of the desert. Crash! One
of the fighters had been knocked into the cedar brush. He burst
up again, bawling awful curses. Ray! What a hot tingling thrill
Janey experienced! It seemed to change her very nature. She
wanted more than anything ever before in her life for Randolph to
beat down the vile-mouthed cowboy. She had known the cause of
Randolph's white anger. It was because of Ray's bald
insinuations. Randolph was fighting for her, to whip the cur
before those onlookers who had heard. So it was impossible for
Janey to keep her eyes covered any longer.

She found she stood alone. The fighters had worked away up the
bench. Even the Durlands had followed the men. Janey ran. She saw
Phil first, face turned toward her. He was all bloody and dirty.
Then Ray's face swept round into sight. He was horribly battered,
his face resembling a bloody beefsteak. He lunged wildly. He had
no science. Randolph was agile, swift, and when he struck out he
landed. Ray plunged down at Randolph's legs, caught them, and
dragged him down. They clinched furiously, and rolled over and
over, now one on top, then the other. Ray kicked viciously. It
was clear that he was trying to dig his spurs into Randolph's
legs. The cowboys yelled their derision of this further evidence
of Ray's cowardly tactics. He must have imagined that a
rough-and-tumble fight would give him the advantage. But it soon
became clear that he was as badly off as in a fair stand-up
fight. Randolph was out to give the cowboy a terrific beating,
and it looked as if it would end that way.

Once, when in their rolling over Ray landed on top, he
snatched up a dead branch, quite weighty, and brought it down
hard upon Randolph's head, where it cracked into many bits.

"You dirty dog!" yelled Mohave, who was now plainly Randolph's
champion. "If you knock him out that way you'll have me on
you."

But if Ray heard he paid no heed. He snatched up a rock and
swung that.

The maddened cowboy tried to smash Randolph's head. Missed
him! Bennet meant to shoot, but obviously feared he would either
kill Ray or hit Randolph. Then he grasped his gun by the barrel,
meaning to hit Ray with it. The cowboy struck again with the
rock. Randolph dodged, but was slightly hit.

Mohave leaped close to do something, no one could guess what.
Mrs. Durland collapsed in a faint. Randolph might not have been
doing his utmost before, because his fury and strength became
marvelous. With one powerful blow he knocked the stone flying out
of Ray's hand. Another broke Ray's hold on his throat. Then he
heaved mightily. He tossed Ray clear of him, and was on his feet
as quickly as the cowboy. He rushed Ray. A blow stopped the
cowboy. The next staggered him. Randolph swung his left biff. Then
his right--smash! Ray, who was falling at the first blow, shot
down with the second as if it had been from a catapult. He fell
headlong, and slid over the brink of the bench, to crash into the
brush below.

Randolph glared a moment at the puff of dust which the cowboy
had raised, then striding to his pack he picked up his towel and
went off down the slope toward the creek.

Janey was so tottering and weak that she sat down on a rock.
Bennet sheathed his gun.

"Wal, that was good," he declared, in great relief. "I hope he
broke his neck. Some of you boys go down and see...Endicott, Mrs.
Durland has fainted. No wonder. Thet came near bein' a real
scrap. Young man, fetch some water, an' we'll bring your mother
to."

Janey sat dizzily conscious of the subsiding of the terrible
emotions that had swayed her. Very slowly she recovered. Mrs.
Durland was revived and lifted to a seat. Bennet appeared very
kindly and solicitous. Janey's father wore a haggard look of
remorse displacing fear. Bert, who hovered over his mother,
showed the pallor of a girl, and hands that shook. Mohave was the
only cowboy left on the bench.

"What in the hell happened?" questioned Bennet, sternly.

"Boss, I swear it was as much of a surprise to us as to you,"
began Mohave, most earnestly. "The boys will back me up in
that...You know Mr. Endicott was awful keen on makin' this fake
hangin' look like the real thing. We had our orders to do some
tall actin'--like them motion-picture fellars. You can bet we had
a lot of fun plannin' this. Talkin' it over! We must look
terrible mad, as if we meant bizness. Wal, Ray acted so powerful
good thet we all was plumb jealous. Even when he began to say
nasty things we thought he was only oversteppin' a little. When
he insulted Miss Janey then I was flabbergasted. Same with the
other boys. Once I opened my trap, but Ray shet me up pronto.
Still it was all so sudden I jest couldn't see through Ray until
he called Miss Janey a white-faced slut."

"Ahuh! Aboot time you seen through him, I'll say. Wal?"
grumbled the trader.

"Then it all come in a flash," went on Mohave, breathing hard.
"We was obeyin' orders--havin' an awful big kick out of it. But
Ray wasn't actin'. He meant to hang Randolph. No doubt of thet,
sir. He had it all figgered out an' knowed the facts would clear
him in any court."

"Wal, I ain't shore. But I believe Ray thought Miss Janey was
his gurl," replied Mohave, manfully, though it was evident he
hated to be frank. "He shore talked like it. An' when he
seen--wal, that he was what you called him, boss, why he went
plumb out of his haid with jealousy."

"Ahuh! Wal, I'm damned!" ejaculated Bennet.

Mr. Endicott had listened to all this conversation and now he
turned to his daughter.

"Janey, you let that cowboy make love to you," he said. He did
not ask; he affirmed.

"Dad, I did," replied Janey, bravely. It was confession that
was accusation. "To my regret and shame--I did. I let him kiss
me--talk a lot of nonsense."

"Well, that's no crime," he said, gravely. "But in this case
it nearly led to murder. I hope it will be a lesson to you."

Janey dropped her face into her hands and hid it. Lesson! What
lesson had she not had? She would be days accounting for them and
their clarifying and transforming power. Now there was only one
man in all the world whom she would allow to kiss her. And would
he want to again?

"Reckon so, if someone shows him where to go. Both eyes are
swelled shet."

"Wal, let's see. The Indians can look after us. You boys take
him back to the post. Tell Mrs. Bennet to pay him off an' let him
go. Clear out now...An' say, boys, if you want to stay with me,
keep mum aboot this deal. Not one little word! Savvy?"

They promised soberly, and picking up their guns, they led
their horses down through the cedars out of sight.

"Reckon we might as well stay heah fer a day or two, hadn't
we?" inquired Bennet of Endicott. "The Indians will look after
our horses, an' pack firewood. I can cook."

"Surely. I want to see this Beckyshibeta. Besides--" replied
Endicott, who, happening to glance at Janey, did not complete
what had been on his mind to say. Then seeing Randolph returning
he advanced to meet him. He certainly got a cold shoulder from
that individual. Standing blankly a moment he threw up his hands,
then stalked off tragically. Janey had noticed this little
by-play. So had Bennet, who was not above chuckling. This and
Randolph's reception of her father did much to spur Janey to some
semblance of sanity.

"Wal, lass, it was an awful mess, wasn't it?" said the trader,
sympathetically, as he seated himself beside Janey.

"Your father had good intentions," went on Bennet. "But
jumpin' horn toads! What a damn fool idee! He never told me till
it was all done, an' the cowboys on your trail. Shore I could
have held them back, or come along. I thought somethin' was kinda
queer. Sort of in the air. But, Lord, how could I guess it?"

"Don't apologize, and please don't be sorry for me," murmured
Janey.

"Aw now--"

"What this--this mess has done to me I don't realize yet,"
interrupted Janey. "But today has been terrible...When I--I get
my nerve back, I'll be all right...I don't blame Dad. He meant
well. He wanted to give me a--a real scare. I'll say he succeeded
beyond his wildest hopes...Still, it was my fault, Mr. Bennet. I
can't crawl out. I must have driven poor Dad crazy. And that
miserable cowboy Ray! I don't know what to say. I--I wanted Phil
to kill him. Think of that!"

"Wal, I'd have shot Ray myself if I hadn't been leary of
hittin' Randolph," said Bennet. "Don't you waste too much pity on
Ray. He's plain no good. I know a lot of things aboot Ray. He was
a good man with hosses an' cattle. An' not a hard drinker. I've
gotta say thet fer him. But Ray always was loony aboot girls. He
wouldn't up an' marry one. No sir-ee! He always said he didn't
want to be hawg-tied...Wal, I reckon he had a genuine case on
you."

"Never mind, lass," interposed the trader, putting a rough
kind hand on hers. "I heard what you said to your Dad. You're
game, as we say in the West, an' takin' your medicine. You jest
didn't savvy cowboys, much less a dangerous hombre like Ray.
We're lucky it didn't turn out bad...Randolph shore was
chain-lightnin' when he rode up, wasn't he? Wal, I reckon, after
all, the most dangerous men are the quiet ones. I'll never get
over the surprise he gave me, though...Now, you pull yourself
together. Reckon I'd better look up your Dad."

With that Bennet arose, and giving the Indians some
instructions, he strode off in the direction Endicott had taken.
Janey felt that she had pulled herself together, in a sense,
though she was far too wise to trust herself yet. Still, she had
to go about facing things, and she chose the hardest first. She
went up to Randolph. He had changed his stained, torn shirt for a
clean one, and washed the blood from his cut and bruised face.
And he did not appear such an ugly sight as she had
anticipated.

"Phil, it was--fine--wonderful for you to fight that way for
me. You--I--I can't find words."

"What I did is nothing compared to the way you stood up before
them and lied for me," he said, with deep feeling.

Janey had forgotten about that. All in a second she felt
unaccountably tender and realized she was on most treacherous
ground. She had not lied, and she longed to tell him so.

"Don't look so distressed," he went on. "They all know you
lied to save me and they'll think more of you for it."

"I don't care what they think," returned Janey. "I'm pretty
much upset. I just wanted to tell you how I felt--about your
fighting for me...and to ask you--please not to quarrel with
Dad."

"Sorry I can't promise. It's certainly coming to that
gentleman," said Randolph, grimly.

Janey was not equal to any more just then; and when she slowly
ascended the little rock slope to her retreat she realized how
unstrung she was. Once there she lay down on her bed and did not
care what happened. She did not quite sleep, but she rested for a
couple of hours. Still she did not feel up to the exigencies of
this hectic situation. Curiosity, however, was an entering wedge
into the chaos of her mind. She sat up and tried to make herself
more presentable--thinking, with a wan smile as she saw the havoc
in her face, that this was a favorable sign of returning
reason.

The Indians appeared to be busy around the campfire, cleaning
the mess left by Black Dick and his partner. Never would she
forget them! And pretty soon she would find herself in the unique
and embarrassing state of inquiring into their wholesome effect
upon her. The Durlands were fixing up some kind of a shelter in
the cedars, and evidently were quite interested. Janey reflected
that an adjustment to their material loss might make considerable
difference in their reaction. Randolph and Bennet were nowhere to
be seen. But presently Janey saw her father. He had been so near,
under the wall in the shade, that she had overlooked him.
Hatless, coatless, vestless, collar open at the neck, dejected,
he certainly presented a most unusual counterpart of himself. For
an instant Janey had a wild start. What if Randolph had chastised
him too! But no, that was improbable. Nevertheless something had
happened to Mr. Endicott, and seeing him this way revived Janey's
spirit. Could she carry on? She would die in the attempt! These
two detractors had not been punished enough to satisfy her.
Especially Randolph! So after thinking it over for a little
longer Janey went down to her father.

It was worse than Janey had imagined. She began to soften a
little, though she never would let it show.

"How do you like Beckyshibeta?" she asked.

"Becky-hell and blazes!"

"What's happened, Dad?" she went on, quietly.

"Nothing. I've had the most uncomfortable hour of my life," he
rejoined, miserably. She saw that unburdening himself would be
well, so she encouraged him.

"I didn't know that man Randolph at all," he exploded.

"Neither did I," replied Janey, musingly.

"Janey, that confounded Westerner came up to me with fire in
his eye. And he said: `Damn you, Endicott. I ought to punch you
good!' I thought he was going to do it, too. So I made some
feeble reply about how sorry I was to place him in such a fix.
'Fix? Hell!' he yelled at me. 'I'm not thinking of myself. It's
the fix you've got her in. It's not I who'll have ruined her
reputation. It's you! You made a damn fool of me. But you've hurt
her. Those Durlands will be nasty. Your own daughter! You made me
believe she was wild--going straight to hell!' I yelled back at
him that you were. Then he shut me up all right. He shook that
big fist under my very nose. He called me a blankety-blank
liar!...Then he swore at me. He cussed me. Such profanity I never
heard. He must have collected it from every cowboy in the West.
He never stopped until he was out of breath. Then he went off
somewhere with Bennet."

"Is that all?" she inquired.

"All? Good God! What would you want? Have him beat me up like
he did that cowboy?"

"I thought perhaps he might."

"You'd have been an orphan all right, if he had...Janey, you
don't mean you're dead sore at me?"

"You are an unnatural parent," returned Janey, beginning to
revel.

"Why, I thought I'd been the easiest dad any girl ever had,"
he protested, not without pain. "Our friends always took me to
task for giving you freedom--everything you wanted."

"Yes. But never the love I was so hungry for," said Janey,
cruelly.

"Janey!" he exclaimed, amazed and shocked. "I always worshiped
you--and spoiled you. This miserable trick I played on
you--that's turned out so badly--why it was a proof of--of--"

"Not of faith, Father," she interrupted, coldly.

"Faith! Of course it was faith. I swore to myself that our
rotten life in the East had not yet ruined you."

"Please do not argue with me," she returned, sweetly. "The
thing's done. You have ruined me, that's certain. And I'll never,
never forgive you."

This so crushed him that she had to leave before she must
yield to an irresistible softness. And by way of a
counter-irritant she went over to talk to the Durlands. They were
cold and reserved at first, but presently her sad face, and the
struggle she apparently was making to keep up, quite warmed Mrs.
Durland. Her son, however, came around slowly. Finally he broke
out in a tirade against Randolph and her father.

"Yes, I know, Bert, they're all you say and more. But that
doesn't help me. I was perfectly innocent. You know what kind of
a girl I am."

"You bet I do. But, Janey, that about coming here willingly?
Then you stood up so--so wonderfully and said you loved him!"

"You ninny. I was trying to save his life," protested
Janey.

"It was great of you, old girl, believe me," replied Bert,
fervently. "And I believe you did."

Janey decided the Durlands would be hard to handle. Under her
direct influence they would respond, but once away from it they
would be likely to gossip, unless she could make them loyal to
her. On the face of it that seemed an impossible task. And she
was silly to hope for it, selfish to ask for it. She began to
stroll around, hoping to get a peep at Randolph, conscious of a
sneaking delight. She saw Bennet returning to camp, but the
archaeologist had vanished. Could it be possible that the man was
again digging for Beckyshibeta? If so she would have to hand him
a laurel wreath. She could not, however, venture to find out, and
had to content herself with waiting.

Out of sight of camp Janey found a lofty perch in the sun and
there she succumbed to the glory and dream of this canyon
country. There was no sense or use in trying to resist its charm.
But it was a way with Janey to try to understand what got the
best of her. This place had taken hold of her heart.

What was the spell of this deep fissure in the rocks? She
dreamily attended to her senses. It had such a strange sweet dry
fragrance, with sage predominating, but with other perfumes
almost as clean and insidious. It was as colorful as a rainbow.
It changed with the movements of the sun, never very long the
same. It had mystic veils of light, rose and pink at dawn, amber
and gold at this hour of high noon, and in the afternoon with
shadows lengthening, deepening into lilac, purple, black. Then
the immensity of the cliffs, the lofty rims, the far higher domes
and mesas beyond, the hundreds of inaccessible and fascinating
places where only squirrels and birds could rest--these added to
the spell. Not a little, too, was the evidence of a wild people
once having lived and fought and died here. Perhaps loved! Lastly
Janey was discovering the blessedness of solitude, the something
leveling in loveliness, the elevating power of the naked sheer
walls with their inscrutable meaning.

All of which led to a consciousness of the thing that had come
to her. She called it "thing," when she confessed to her soul
that it was new, transforming, exalting love. And she dared not
give in to that just yet. When she must, when she could no longer
stand the old Janey Endicott, when pride and vanity, and the host
of other faults must go by the board, then she would face the
truth and its appalling problems. She had a tremendous
consciousness that she would engulf all--this marvelous desert,
her aging, worrying father, her friends--and Randolph. And it was
going to hurt almost mortally.

Janey returned to camp. Sight of Randolph thrilled yet shocked
her. That hour alone in the canyon had transformed him in her
mind. And the reality of him was confounding.

Evidently she had interrupted a conference, or at least an
argument. She caught Randolph's slight gesture to enjoin
silence.

Bennet detained her. "We was jest talkin'," he said, "an'
mebbe you might put a word in. Randolph has lost his job. Mr.
Elliot, haid of the New York Museum, is now at the post, waitin'
for some of his men to come over from New Mexico. 'Pears he's
been agin Randolph's explorations out heah. Wants to find
Beckyshibeta himself. After Randolph has dug up the desert! Wal,
he took this unauthorized trip of Randolph's out heah as an
excuse, an' fired him. Your father feels bad aboot bein' to
blame, and he offered Randolph substantial means to go on with
his explorations on his own hook. Randolph turned it down
cold...What do you think aboot it?"

"I! Oh, I think it very unfortunate and distressing that
Phil--Mr. Randolph should be discharged--and disgraced through
father's idiotic scheme," replied Janey. "Certainly father could
do no less than offer to repair the material loss. And just as
certainly Mr. Randolph could not accept it."

"Why not?" demanded Endicott.

"Well, Dad, if you're so dense you can't see why--I am not
going to enlighten you."

Endicott might have exploded then, if he had had energy enough
left to express himself as he looked. As it was, his first
exclamation was unintelligible and scarcely mild. Then he added:
"If you temperamental young fools weren't loggerheads I could
still save the situation."

Here Bennet stepped in and tried his Western common sense and
kindliness. Janey had been thinking desperately. What astounded
her now was that she simply could not stand Randolph's
unhappiness. She, who had wanted to make him writhe and moan and
curse himself with remorse!

"Mr. Randolph, may I have a word with you alone?" she asked,
very businesslike. No one could have guessed there was a lump in
her throat.

"Certainly," he said, with freezing politeness, "if you
consider it necessary."

He went aside with her, manifestly with misgivings. Janey
heard her father whisper to Bennet, "Now what's she up to?
There's no telling about a woman."

Janey maintained an outward composure. She could rise to the
moment and this one was big.

"Will you make me a promise?" she asked.

"I couldn't very well be surprised at you. And if you'll
pardon my bluntness--no, I won't," he replied.

Janey was looking with a woman's penetrating intuitive eyes
into his face; and what she read there made the ordeal worse, yet
gave her a hint of the assurance she needed.

"Well then, if you make me a promise--will you keep it?" she
continued, steadily.

"Yes. If!"

"Do you recall the last time I was around where you were
digging?"

"I'm not likely to forget it."

"I am going to tell you the honest truth."

"Miss Endicott, are you capable of that?" he asked,
acidly.

"If you were big enough to fight for my honor you can be big
enough to give me the benefit of the doubt--when I particularly
appeal to you. Will you?"

That struck him deep. He lost his grim cold look of doubt and
became merely wretched.

"I'm not quite myself. But tell me what you want to."

"If I reveal something to you will you promise never to tell
it to anyone?" she asked, hurriedly and low.

"I don't see any need of your revealing secrets to me," he
replied.

"Will you promise?" she went on, appealing as well with her
eyes.

"You can trust me," he said, surrendering in spite of
himself.

"Thank you. The secret you have promised to keep is that I
have found Beckyshibeta for you," she whispered. "Go at once far
beyond that place where I crossed and risked my life--where I
taunted you and you told me to go to the devil...Go high up
around the great cracked leaning rock. Find a stairway of little
cut steps in the stones. Follow them. They will lead you to
Beckyshibeta. Don't doubt. Don't laugh. But go!"

Janey did not wait to see his incredulity or to hear whatever
he might have to say. She hurried away, up to her ledge. When she
sank to her knees upon her bed, and looked back, Randolph had
disappeared. Soon he would learn that her words had not been
idle. The greatest ambition of his life attained! Beckyshibeta!
How would he return to her?

CHAPTER 12

Janey had anticipated peace, satisfaction, relief from her
whirling thoughts. But she was wrong. Suppose it had not been
Beckyshibeta at all? What a horrible mistake! Her eloquence, her
exaction of a sacred promise, her cool certainty had convinced
Randolph. But she might have been wrong. How could she be sure
about cliff dwellings?

So she was tortured. How to make amends to Randolph if she had
blundered! Of course she could give him herself. It did not seem
possible that she could rival Beckyshibeta in this mad
scientist's valuation; nevertheless she might be some little
consolation. That would be what she must do; that was what she
had intended for long endless growing hours. Only it would have
to be done at once, right there where this catastrophe had
happened, instead of waiting until she felt utterly and forever
avenged.

An hour passed, surely an hour Janey would never want to live
over. The camp was deserted. She had not heard anyone leave. And
presently she felt that she could not lie there any longer,
waiting in actionless suspense. She must move around, do
something.

Janey wandered in the opposite direction to the one she was
sure the others had taken. She went round under the cliffs
farther on that side than she had ever been. But for once the
speaking walls had no power of solace. She was not ready to take
stock of her own spiritual needs. It was Randolph of whom she was
thinking. If she had actually discovered Beckyshibeta she would
presently be the most fortunate--the happiest of women. She did
not try now to reason out why. It was something she most devoutly
believed and prayed for.

She found a clump of sage and lingered in it, reveling in its
fragrance and color. She gathered an armful of the sprigs,
meaning to treasure them in a pillow, to have near her a
memory-stirring sweetness of the desert. Then she sat down with
the sage in her lap, and tried to plan clearly her procedure from
this hour. But she could only dream, because everything was
uncertain.

Time passed, however, and upon her return to camp she found
all the others there, except Randolph. At first glance they
appeared to be friendly enough. There must be some occasion for
intimate talk. Then her father spotted her and came running.
Janey sighed with relief. Mr. Endicott was not given to
overexertion in ordinary movements or when he was gloomy.

"I've had the very devil of good luck," he announced, as he
reached her, and quite forgetful of a former state of mind he put
his arm around her and squeezed her.

"You have? Well, that's fine," replied Janey, yielding to him,
as he pulled her to a seat on a rock.

"Randolph and I have made up," said Mr. Endicott, with great
pleasure and satisfaction.

"Made up! Indeed? I did not imagine it possible that he would
ever forgive you--either." Janey added the "either" as an
afterthought. It quite escaped Mr. Endicott.

"Janey, the lucky dog discovered the lost
pueblo--Beckyshibeta!" exclaimed her father.

"Oh!--How wonderful!"

"It's true. And, well, I don't know when I've been so glad
about anything."

"Tell me about it," said Janey, composedly, although she kept
her face half averted.

"Bennet was showing us the ruins," went on Endicott, wiping
his hot face. "We ran into Randolph. I declare I thought he was
crazy. So did Bennet. At first we did not take him at all
seriously. He convinced us finally. He had discovered
Beckyshibeta--the pueblo about which archaeologists have been
raving for years. Quite by a strange lucky accident. He was
radiant. I never saw a man so completely happy. He was so
absurdly grateful to me for sending him out here. Why, the fellow
embraced me. I was embarrassed, remembering how he treated me a
few hours before...Janey, he had actually forgotten. I declare it
upset me--I was so glad. I like Randolph, and when I queered
myself with him it hurt. He's one of the finest chaps I ever
knew!"

"I'm glad--for his sake and yours," rejoined Janey. "This
discovery must mean a great deal to him?"

"I didn't understand that until after he rushed off again,"
replied Endicott. "Bennet told me! It means fame and money to
Randolph. In one word--success. Scientifically this is a very
important discovery. Beckyshibeta is one of the greatest pueblos,
says Bennet. An ancient buried city! Then the best of it is that
Randolph was not working for the museum people when he found the
pueblo. He was all on his own. That upstage Elliot, you know,
fired him. Bennet says Elliot will practically expire. Randolph
will have the credit, and everything else that comes with it. The
work of excavation will be under his control, instead of
Elliot's. I'm just tickled over it."

"Phillip has already accepted," went on her father, happily.
"He said he could raise any amount of money. The government would
want to help. Patrons of scientific research would want to
donate--to have their names connected with Beckyshibeta. But I
beat them to it. And Phil was delighted."

"Where is--he now?" asked Janey, with her glance downcast upon
the bunch of sage. It would never have done for her to let anyone
see her eyes then.

"He went back. Bennet and I tried to follow him. But he
crossed a terrible place. We'd have broken our necks. So we
returned to camp."

It was night with silvery radiance streaming down over the
dark canyon rims. The moon was rising. Janey lay in her blankets,
waiting to see the white disk slide up over the black ragged
rockline above. She had not cared to trust meeting Randolph at
the campfire, and pleading fatigue had retired to her ledge,
where her father brought her supper.

Randolph did not return until the others had finished their
meal; and then he quite forgot to eat. His ragged appearance
attested to hours of contact with the rough rocks, and his
radiant face to the discovery that had made him a changed man.
While he talked to Bennet and Endicott his glance went so often
toward Janey's perch that she feared she might be caught peeping.
But she was in dark shadow there, and could revel in watching and
listening. If she had ever seen three happy men it was then.

The Durlands had thawed considerably. They hovered around
Randolph, fascinated, and warming to the man's enthusiasm. When
at last they went off to their shack, Bennet said: "Wal,
Endicott, can you dig up a drink?"

"No. I didn't bring any," replied Endicott, regretfully.

"How aboot you, Randolph?"

"I had some for possible snakebite, but it leaked out."

Bennet turned over his saddle and procured a flask. "Heah,
friends, we'll drink to Beckyshibeta!"

What a long time they were in getting ready for bed! At last
Randolph was left alone. He sat for what seemed an endless hour,
gazing into the ruddy dying fire. What was he thinking about?
Fame and fortune, the goddesses of all men's ambitions, thought
Janey, jealously. Certainly he did not appear to remember
her.

The moon soared across the narrow opening between the rims of
rock above; the dark shadow on one side of the canyon moved
magically across to the other. An impenetrable silence enfolded
the lonely place. Janey had sat up peeping until her back ached.
Several times she lay down again, only to rise up and peep once
more. Randolph was a magnet. She laughed happily under her breath
as she watched him. If he but knew!

Endicott and Bennet lay prone in their beds, deep in slumber.
It touched Janey to see the silver of her father's hair, bright
in the moonlight.

Randolph glanced rather markedly and long at them. Then
stepping noiselessly he entered the zone of shadow and vanished.
But soon the outline of his head and shoulders were silhouetted
against the moonlight. Janey gave a wild start and shrank back.
He was climbing to her ledge.

The sudden burning of her face and beating of her heart
accompanied a panic she could not quell. But she covered herself
with the blankets and feigned sleep. To her own eyes it had been
almost as bright as day up there.

But Randolph, coming from the open moonlight, would find it
dark. Yet if he stayed long enough! A child could read her heart
in her face. She heard a slight rustling on the rock, and she
began to tremble. Next she felt his presence. He was there,
gazing down upon her. How could she lie still? What was his
intention? Then she realized that he would surely awaken her, and
she sought to still her nerves. Something lightly brushed her
hair. His hand or his lips? Another instant she knew, for she
caught a slight sound of intense breathing very close to her
face. He had kissed her hair. If he dared to kiss her lips her
rigid arms would fly up round his neck. She knew it. She waited,
surrendering in her heart, ready to end the fight royally.

But instead he touched her softly and whispered: "Janey!"

That saved her. She caught at her ebbing self-control; and her
conscious swift thought balanced her emotion.

"Janey," he whispered. "Wake up. It is I--Phil."

She opened her eyes, not needing to pretend a start. She saw
him distinctly--his face pale, rapt. He knelt beside her.

"It's quite unconventional, to put it mildly. But I haven't
ordered you out, have I?" she replied, and put a hand out to lift
her pillow.

"Thank you," he said, huskily. "I'll be relieved and happy to
get this off my mind...Janey, you've made my fortune.
Beckyshibeta is marvelous. I have not had time to gauge its
scope, but from what I've discovered already, it is vastly larger
and more important than I ever dreamed it would be. In fact,
Beckyshibeta is one of the great ancient buried cities. It will
take years to excavate, and in a scientific way is a priceless
discovery. The fact that Elliot discharged me from the museum
staff is particularly fortunate for me. I am all on my own. I can
dictate terms. I can raise any amount of capital, but I believe
I'll accept your father's aid. It will be a fine thing for him,
too."

"But, Phil," replied Janey, as he paused, "you told me all
this before. When you explained what it would mean to you if you
discovered the ruin."

"Yes, but I never dreamed of its magnitude...Janey, I've tried
more than once to make you see how my heart was in this work. It
appeals to me in so many ways. I like delving into the musty
past. But I could not advance because I had neither capital nor
luck. You have made my fortune. I'll be famous. I'll make money
writing, lecturing, and I'll have a big position offered to me.
Expeditions in foreign countries, if I want, or research work all
over this desert. I simply cannot think of all the advantages
that will come to me. But I think you should release me from my
promise not to tell you made the discovery."

"Certainly not. I am glad it means so much to you. You know I
always wanted you to succeed, even if I didn't appear interested.
And I can feel that I returned some little good for the--the evil
you did me."

"Janey!"

"You have ruined my good name," she went on, gravely. "It's
Dad's fault, but that does not excuse you."

"Oh, Janey, it really all amounts to nothing--nothing," he
whispered, hoarsely. "In this age! Why, even if the kidnaping had
been real, it could not have hurt you vitally."

"I can't agree with you, and we needn't discuss that."

"Listen. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. But I
had no hopes or delusions. You remember when I saw you in New
York...Well, I don't think I'd ever have gotten over it. I'd
never have cared for any other girl. But my heart would not have
broken. This trip of yours out here--your father's crazy
plan--the wonderful hours in the desert--and lastly, your finding
Beckyshibeta for me--I can never stand them. I can never get over
them. I loved you before, but I worship you now...Janey, will you
marry me?"

Janey tried to withdraw her hand from his warm clasp, for fear
that it might betray the true state of her heart.

"I will no longer be a nonentity," he hastened on. "Nor a poor
beggar. I can offer you a home--good enough for any good girl. I
can make you happy, Janey. Oh, you never fooled me. That gay idle
luxurious life never brought out the best in you. There's a lot
in you, Janey. What a wonderful girl to help a man make something
out of himself! To make a real American home!"

"Not long ago you thought me all that was bad," she replied,
scornfully.

"I did not. I never even took you for what you appeared to be
on the face of it."

"I remember what you said, Phil," she returned, sadly.

"I don't care what I said. God knows I had provocation enough
for anything. I don't care what I thought, either. The
inspiration of your discovery of Beckyshibeta has given me
vision. I see clearly. I know you as you are in your heart. You
are deceiving yourself, not me...I beg you, listen to me. I'll
never importune you again. I love you. I worship you. If you will
only rise to the beauty and splendor of what I see!"

"Phil, you don't allow for a woman's feelings," she returned,
earnestly. "I respected you--liked you. And I proved it by
letting you alone. If you had refused Dad's miserable advances.
If you had told me. If you had borne with me and been my
friend--Quien sabe?--But now it's too late!"

"Janey, you can't be so little as that," he pleaded, in
torture. "If you liked me at all, it might be lasting."

"You forget you--you beat me!" she whispered, and felt the hot
blood move up to her cheeks.

"No, I don't forget," he said, stubbornly. "I'm sorry, of
course. But I'd do it again under the same circumstances. Only I
want you to understand I didn't beat you. I spanked you. There is
a very great difference."

"I don't care about the difference...Phil, do you honestly
believe I oughtn't hate you for that?"

"Hate me? Good heavens, no! My love for you robs that terrible
humiliation of any hate."

Janey knew that was true, and just then hated herself for the
passion which held her to her pride and revenge. She knew also
that she must end this talk abruptly or yield to him.

"Phil, any moment you may awaken the others," she said,
managing a hauteur that must have been sickening to him. "But
take my answer. It is all too late for the beautiful thing you
vision. Too late!...I shall insist that you take me to
Flagerstown at once--and give me the protection of your name. I
shall go to New York, and free you there."

"Oh, Janey!" he cried, in passionate disappointment, and threw
her hand from him.

"You will--do that much--for me?" she asked, unsteadily.

"Yes, I'll make you Mrs. Phillip Randolph," he answered,
bitterly, and went silently down the ledge, disappearing in the
shadow.

Janey lay back with a long sigh. The ordeal was over. She
realized that in a few moments she would be gloriously happy.
Just the instant she had satisfied her insistent modern mind! As
she settled back, and drew the blankets close about her
shoulders, she felt the quivering of her body. She was cold and
exhausted. But for the darkness she could never have carried on
that intimate talk with Phillip to the climax it had attained.
She had deceived him. She had tortured him with the hint of what
might have been. The assurance of his love had been what she
craved. Her breast swelled and her conscience flayed her as she
recalled his words, his emotion, his faith. She would take
exceeding great care that no word or act of hers would do
anything but increase his remorse and love. Nevertheless she
would go clear to the very last minute with her revenge. No
longer revenge, but fun, simply love itself, something to enhance
her surrender to him with the sweetest and most unforgettable
turning of the tables.

A thought flashed by--was this trifling with her
happiness--going too far, risking too much? No! If Phillip
worshiped her--and how thrillingly she believed it--dared not
yield to it!--a few more days on the desert and then that
marvelous climax she must devise to follow their marriage in
Flagerstown, would make him more miserable, more lovelorn, more
wholly hers. How she must rack her brain to make her victory
complete--something for which he could only love her more!

Janey lay long awake. Sleep would have robbed her. The night
wore on. The silver gleam on the walls paled, darkened, vanished.
And the canyon grew black, mysterious, silent as a tomb. But by
intense concentration Janey managed to hear a very low murmur of
running water and then the faintest of mournful winds. How
wonderful the night, the darkness, the loneliness and wildness,
the meaning of these old walls, the echo of past life there, the
living powerful love in her heart, and the intimation that
nothing died!

Then, as if by magic, the gray dawn came, the brightening of
the canyon.

Janey lay in bed and thought and dreamed, and smiled, and
pinched herself to prove she was awake. Presently she became
aware of sounds of camp stirring below. They were early this
morning. But she was loath to leave the warm blankets, and would
rather have lingered there with her thoughts.

Then her father appeared on the ledge, carrying her riding
habit and boots.

"Hello, you're awake," he said.

"Good morning, Father," she replied, demurely peeping from
behind the edge of her blanket. He did not look happy and the
smile he usually had for her was wanting.

"We're breaking camp. Randolph acquainted me with your wishes
and intentions. We will leave for the post and Flagerstown at
once."

"So soon! Leave Beckyshibeta today?" she exclaimed, in
dismay.

"Assuredly. I daresay you will appreciate this place--and some
other things--after you have lost them. Hurry and dress yourself.
Breakfast is waiting."

Janey stared after his retreating form rather blankly. "Well!"
she soliloquized. Then she laughed. What could she have expected?
He was tremendously disappointed in her. All the better! Things
were working out magnificently. She would certainly teach him a
lesson that would last for life. Yet she was very glad indeed
that he was so disappointed. She could endure a little longer
that he and Randolph should continue to be sad about her and the
mess she was going to make out of her life.

Janey got into her riding habit and boots with extraordinary
pleasure and satisfaction. What a transformation! The scant garb
she had been wearing did not harmonize with dignity, and
certainly had not enhanced her good looks. All the same she would
keep that shrunken skirt and torn blouse and the soiled
stockings. She rolled them in the blankets. The worn shoes, too!
Some distant future day she would don them to surprise and
delight Phil.

Her little mirror showed a golden-tanned face, with glad eyes
and a glorious smile; and shiny rippling hair, all the prettier
for being wayward and free. Janey did not need to hide her
feelings any longer. She would let Randolph and her father make
their own deductions regarding her happiness.

As she descended the ledge she heard Mrs. Durland squeal with
delight. Something had excited her. Randolph and Bennet were busy
packing. Breakfast steamed on the fire. The Indians were coming
up with the horses. A pang tore Janey's heart. Only an hour more,
perhaps less, of these gleaming canyon walls! But she would come
back. The gentlemen were not blind to her changed attire and
mood, though they did not fuss over her. Indeed she could not
catch Randolph's eye.

Mrs. Durland came up almost running, breathless, triumphant,
and radiant. "Oh, my dear, how different--you look!" she panted.
"What do you think?--That villain Black Dick forgot to take our
money--and jewels. My bag was hanging on a cedar twig. Imagine! I
was simply overcome...and here's your diamond ring."

"Well, of all the luck!" cried Janey, surprised and pleased,
as she took the ring. "I'm very glad for you, Mrs. Durland. Of
course my loss would have been little...So our desperado forgot
to take what he stole? Well, he was a queer one."

"I can almost forgive him now," replied Mrs. Durland,
fervently.

Bert came up and tipped his sombrero to Janey. But his sour
look did not fit his graceful gesture. Janey did not need to be
told that her father had passed on the important news. The
Durlands might be civil, but Bert, at least, would never forgive
her. Janey reflected that it might not matter how they felt or
what they did. She would be careful, however, to make it plain to
Randolph and her father that she feared the Durlands and desired
to placate them.

Janey had her breakfast alone. One of the Indians left his
work and stood nearby, apparently fascinated at the sight of her.
Randolph kept his back turned and worked hard on the packs.

"Phil, please get me another cup of coffee," she called.

He hurriedly complied and fetched it to her.

"You make such lovely coffee," she said, looking up at him.
"I'll miss that, at least, when I'm home again."

"Bennet made this coffee," replied Randolph, brusquely.

"Oh!" But nothing could have hurt Janey this wonderful
morning. Nothing except leaving her canyon! She went aside by
herself so that she could feel and think, unaffected by Randolph
or her father. The gleaming walls spoke to her. The great red
corner of rock that led off toward Beckyshibeta beckoned for her
to come. And she went far enough to peep round. How wild and
ragged and rocky! It was a wilderness of broken stones. Yet for
her they had a spirit and a voice. The stream murmured from the
gorge, the canyon swifts darted by, their wings shining in the
sunlight, the sweet dry sage fragrance filled her nostrils.

Janey gazed all around and upward, everywhere, with deep
reverence for this lonely chasm in the rock crust of the earth.
She would return soon, and often thereafter while Randolph was at
work on the excavation of the ruined pueblo. She would like to
plan her future, her home, her usefulness in the world, here
under the spell of her canyon.

How soon would that be? Not yet had she planned any farther
than Flagerstown. No farther than the hour which would make her
Phil's wife! The tumultuousness of that thought had inhibited a
completion of her plan. But was not that the climax--the end? It
did not satisfy Janey. It entailed confession, total surrender,
both of which she would be glad to give, yet--. Suddenly she had
an inspiration. It absolutely dazzled her. It swept her away. It
was a perfect solution to her problem, and she could have laughed
her joy to these watching jealous walls. But--was it possible?
Could she accomplish it? How strange she had not thought of it
before! Easy as it was wonderful! Whereupon she gave herself up
to a mute reverent farewell to Beckyshibeta.

Very soon then Janey was astride a horse, comfortable and
confident in her riding outfit, going down the trail through the
cedars. She was the last of the cavalcade. Randolph and the
Indians were ahead, driving the pack animals. Bennet was looking
after the Durlands. Endicott rode ahead of Janey. They crossed
the boulder-strewn stream bed, climbed the dusty soft red trail,
and wound away through cedars. Janey did not look back. It would
not have been any use, for her eyes were blinded by tears. They
did not wholly clear until she rode out of the rock walls, up on
to the desert.

Janey rode alone all day. And surely it was the fullest and
sweetest day of all her life. Forty miles of sage to traverse to
the next camp--finde color and wondrous fragrance all
around--red and gold walls beckoning from the horizons--the sweep
and loneliness of vast stretches--sometimes all by herself on the
trail, far behind the others--these were the splendid
accompaniments of her happy dreams and thoughts, of long serious
realizations, of the permanent settling of convictions and
ideals, of consciousness of a softened and exalted heart.

Sunset fell while they were yet upon the trail--one of the
incomparable Arizona sunsets that Janey had come to love. A black
horizon-wide wall blocked the West. The red and golden rays of
sunlight swept down over it, spreading light over the desert.
Above masses of finde cloud with silver edges hid the sky. And
it all gloriously faded into dusk.

A flock of black and white sheep crossed the trail in front of
Janey. The shepherds were a little Indian boy and girl both
mounted on the same pony. How wild and shy! The dogs barked at
Janey. The sheep trooped over the ridge top. And lastly the
little shepherds and their pony stood silhouetted against the
afterglow. Janey waved and waved. The little girl answered--a
fleeting shy flip of hand. Then they were gone.

Soon after that a bright campfire greeted Janey from a bend in
the trail. She rode into camp and dismounted, to discover she
felt no fatigue, no aches, no pains--and that the exhilaration of
the morning had not worn away in that long ride. Mrs. Durland was
bemoaning her state; Bert limped to his tasks; and Bennet showed
the effect of long sitting in a saddle. The Westerners were
active.

The camp was in the open desert, in the lee of some low rocks.
Coyotes were wailing and yelping out in the darkness. A cold wind
swept round the rocks and pierced through Janey. How good the
blazing bits of sage. She was ravishingly hungry.

Janey ate her supper sitting on an uncomfortable pack, and she
had to eat it quickly while it stayed warm. Firewood appeared to
be scarce, and the desert wind grew colder. There was little or
no gayety in the company. Bennet tried to make a few facetious
remarks to Mrs. Durland, but they fell flat. Janey edged so close
to the fire that she almost burned her boots. Randolph kept in
the shadow. She felt him watching her, and needed no more to keep
her spirits high. Endicott huddled on the ground on the other
side of the fire, and his head dropped. Bert was silent and
dejected. Mrs. Durland complained of the awful effects of the
ride, the food, the cold, the wind and everything.

"Are those terrible wild creatures going to keep that din up
all night?" she asked.

"Wal, I reckon so," replied Bennet. "Coyotes are noisy an'
they'll come right up an' pull at your hat, when you're in
bed."

"Heavens! And we must sleep on the flat ground!"

"You might bunk up on the rock. It'll be tolerable
windy...Miss Janey, aren't you scared and frozen stiff?"

"Both," laughed Janey. "But I think this is great. I love to
hear those wild coyotes."

"No more desert for me," sighed Mrs. Durland.

"Bert, surely you will come back to Arizona someday?" asked
Janey, curiously.

"What for?" he asked, fixing her with gloomy eyes.

"Of course, Janey, you'll be coming back often to see your
husband digging in that heap of stones?" added Mrs. Durland.

"Y-yes, but not very soon," replied Janey. "Father is coming
back shortly to start the excavating of Beckyshibeta. Aren't you,
Dad?"

"Sure. I'm going to dig a grave for myself out here," growled
her father.

"Haw! Haw! Haw!" bawled the trader. "Did you heah that,
Randolph?...Wal, folks, you'll all come back to Arizona. I've yet
to see the man or woman who'd slept out on this desert an' didn't
want to come back."

"You all better turn in," said Randolph. "Firewood scarce, and
you'll be called at dawn."

"I forgot about bed," exclaimed Janey, giving her palms a last
toast over the red coals. "Phil, where's my couch?"

"Here," he replied, and led her a few steps.

"Ugh, it's windy. I hate to think of bed on the cold rocks,"
returned Janey, trying to see in the dark.

"Yours won't be windy or cold or hard," he replied, briefly.
"Here. There's a foot of sage under your blankets, and a thick
windbreak. You'll be comfortable."

"Oh!...You found time to do this for me?" she asked, looking
up at him. The starlight showed his face dark and troubled, his
eyes sad.

"Certainly. It was little enough."

"Thank you, Phil. You are good to me," she said, softly, and
held out her hand.

Randolph gave a start, clasped her hand convulsively, and
strode away without even saying good night.

Janey gazed a moment at his vanishing form. Then she plumped
down on her bed. "Gee," she whispered, "I want to be careful. He
might grab me--and then it would be the end!"

Removing only her boots Janey slipped down into the bed. How
soft and fragrant of sage! Her pillow was a fleecy sheepskin, one
she had seen in Randolph's pack. Then her feet, bravely
stretching down, suddenly came in contact with something hot. It
startled her. Presently she ascertained it was a hot stone
wrapped in canvas. Randolph had heated this and put it in her
bed. Let the desert wind blow! The white stars blinked down at
her from the deep blue dome above. Had she ever thought them
pitiless, indifferent, mocking? The wind swept with low moans
through the sage; the coyotes kept up their wild staccato barks;
the campfire died out and low voices of men ceased. Tranquil,
cold, beautiful night enfolded the scene. And Janey lay there
wide-eyed, watching the heavens, wondering at the beauty and
mystery of nature, at the glory of love, marveling at the
happiness that had been bestowed upon her unworthy self.

Next day about mid-afternoon they rode across the wide barren
stretch of desert to the post, the pack train far ahead with
Randolph in the lead, and Bennet trying to hold Mrs. Durland in
the saddle to the last. Janey brought up the rear, so late that
when she reached the last level all the others had disappeared in
the green grove that surrounded the post.

Mohave met Janey at the gate, bareheaded, respectful, but with
a face of woe.

"Why, Mohave, have you lost your grandmother--or something?"
exclaimed Janey.

"I reckon it's worse, Miss Janey," he replied, meaningly.

"Oh goodness! For a moment I felt sorry for you. Mohave boy,
you keep shy of Eastern girls after this. They're no good."

"Most of them ain't, I reckon. But I know one who's an angel.
An' she's gonna be married to a--"

"Mohave, who told you?" interrupted Janey, as she slipped out
of the saddle.

"Thet big-mouthed, lop-eared, hard-headed Bennet. He came
aroarin' it to everybody, an' no winter cyclone could have
knocked us flatter."

"Wal, Miss Janey, since you tax me--yes, I am, seein' I cain't
have you myself," he replied, with reddening face. "I never liked
thet kidnapin' stunt an' didn't understand. Shore, if we'd known
you was engaged all the time there'd never been such a mix-up.
Poor old Ray, he was the hardest hit, I reckon."

"How about him, Mohave?" asked Janey, anxiously.

"Gone. An' mighty shamed of himself. Asked me to tell you he'd
plumb lost his haid. An' wanted you to know it wasn't the first
time."

"Well!! What did he mean?"

"I reckon Ray figgered thet if you knowed he'd made a fool of
hisself over a gurl before, you wouldn't feel so bad aboot what
you did to him."

"He was man enough to confess his weakness. I call that square
of him, don't you, Mohave?"

"It shore is. Wal, Ray was a good sort, when he wasn't loco
over a gurl, or full of licker."

"How are the other boys?"

"They wasn't so bad, till this news came. Reckon now they're
down at the bunkhouse drownin' their grief. They shore left the
work to me an' the boss."

"How funny! What did they say?"

"Wal, I can't recollect all, but one crack I'll never fergit.
Tay-Tay busted out like this. 'W-w-w-what the h-h-hell you think
of thet grave robber? He's s-s-s-stole our gurl an' he's got a
face like a sick c-c-cow!'"

"He shore ought. I reckon, though, he feels turrible bad aboot
your goin' East an' him havin' to stay on account of
Beckyshibeta. Bennet told us. You can jest bet, Miss Janey, no
cowboy would let you go off alone."

For once Janey was startled, but she maintained her outward
air of coolness. Somehow she had forgotten that the cowboys would
wonder why she did not stay here with Randolph until his plans
were complete. To let Mohave or any of the others guess her
secret would upset all her plans.

"I fancy not," she said, quickly. "But you mustn't think ill
of Mr. Randolph. The discovering of the pueblo has upset all our
plans. It's very important. I'm hoping to persuade him to go East
with us for a few weeks, but I have some very urgent business
reasons for going back immediately with Father. Please regard
that as confidential, Mohave. And tell the boys we'll be leaving
early in the morning. I wouldn't want to miss saying
good-by."

When Mohave had left Janey breathed a sigh of relief. Her
excuse had been a lame one, but the honest cowboy had apparently
swallowed it without a second thought.

Janey then went on into the house, first encountering Mrs.
Bennet, to whose warm greeting she responded. The Indian maid
showed shy gladness at Janey's safe return. Bennet came bustling
in with Endicott, both of them blushing and coughing. Janey
thought her father looked much better and she guessed why. The
Durlands were evidently in their rooms, and Randolph was not in
sight.

"Mr. Bennet, we shall want to leave early in the morning,"
said Janey.

"Aw, Miss Janey! One more day," he entreated.

"I'm sorry, but we must go. Some other time we shall come and
stay longer...Dad, I'll change and pack now. Will you please tell
Phil I want to talk to him presently. Say in an hour. Tell him to
knock at my door."

"All right, star-eyed enigma," returned her father, with
puzzled glance upon her.

Janey rushed to her room, and lost no time in bathing. She put
on her most fetching gown, one of those scant creations that
Randolph had hated, yet could not resist. How swiftly her blood
ran! What a glow on her face! Indeed her eyes were like stars.
Would Randolph see--would he be proud and wretched at once--would
he betray himself? While she packed her mind whirled, keeping
pace with her racing pulse. If she had not conceived a grand
finale to this desert romance she was a poor judge of wit and
humor. Her father would be completely floored, and, best of all,
won forever. Randolph? But no stretch of imagination could
picture Randolph as she hoped to see him.

A tap sounded on the door. It startled Janey. She caught her
breath and her hand went to her breast. She glanced at her mirror
and the image she saw there quickened her agitation. But as
quickly she recovered her composure.

"Come in," she said.

But the door did not move, nor was the rap repeated. Janey
went swiftly and opened it. Randolph stood there. She had not
seen him like this.

"Oh, it's you, Phil. I'd forgotten. Come in. I want to talk to
you."

He did not make any move to enter and apparently he was
dumb.

"Well, you're very reserved--and considerate, all of a
sudden," she said sarcastically. "Pray don't be shy about
entering my bedroom now...Please come in."

Randolph entered reluctantly. There was no bully about him
now.

"What do you want? Was it necessary to ask me here?"

"Yes, I think so. The living room is not private. And I want
to ask a particular favor of you. Will you grant it?"

He went to the window and looked out. Then presently he turned
with an almost grim look.

"Yes--anything."

"Thank you, Phil," she went on, going close to him, quite
closer than was necessary.

Every moment made Janey more sure of herself. There was a
strange and magical sweetness in this sincerity of deceit. Yet
was it deceit? She risked a great deal, trusting to his mood, his
humility. It was a woman's perverse thrilling desire to tempt
him. But if he should seize her in his arms! Even so, she would
carry out her plan.

"Before I ask the favor, I want to tell you that I would
rather have had this otherwise."

"Ha! Maybe I wouldn't!" he exclaimed. "But what do you
mean?"

"It's hard to say. Partly, I'd like to have spared you
this."

"Never mind about me. What's the favor you'd ask?"

"Phil, you are going to marry me--aren't you?"

"Certainly. Unless you change your mind."

"Everybody knows it. Everybody thinks we've been engaged."

"That appears to be the way Bennet and your father have spread
it on," he replied, in bitterness.

"What is the object of this marriage?" she asked, proudly
lifting her head.

"Your father says--and you say--to save your reputation."

"Yes. My honor!...And I fear your sacrifice will fail if you
continue to look and act as you do. You are no happy bridegroom
to be. Tay-Tay said you had a face like a sick cow. You certainly
look wretched. If you don't cheer up and change--act and look
like a lover--the Durlands will guess the truth. So will the
cowboys. Not to mention those in Flagerstown with whom we come in
contact. It is a tremendous bluff we are playing. I can do my
part. You see that I look happy, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he answered, miserably. "And so help me God, I
can't understand you. Always you seem a lie."

"All women are actresses, Phil. I shall not fail here. And I
ask this last favor of you. Look and play the part of an accepted
lover. For my sake!"

"My God!--Janey Endicott, you can ask that of a man whose only
crime has been to love you so well?...And who must lose you!"

"Phil, if you loved me that well you could die for me."

"I could, far more easily than do what you ask. It is almost
an insupportable ordeal you set me. I was never much at hiding my
feelings."

"Phil, the Durlands and the cowboys must not guess this
marriage is a--a fake."

"I grant that. And I know I look like a poor lost devil. But I
thought that'd seem natural to everybody. They all heard I was
not going East."

"You don't know women, my desert friend. Mrs. Durland is keen
as a whip. If you can deceive her--make this engagement seem real
and of long standing, you will stop her wagging tongue. Then
after I get to New York I can find ways socially to please her.
Right here is the danger."

"Perhaps you see it more clearly than I," Randolph said,
mournfully. "Anyway, I'll accept your judgment."

"Favor! I call it the hardest job ever given me. Marrying you
will be nothing, compared to this damned hypocrisy you ask."

"I do ask, Phil. I beg of you. Now at the last I confess I'm
not so brazen. I'm afraid of scandal. Nothing bad ever has
touched my name yet. All this modern stuff about freedom,
independence, license is rot. Face to face with the truth, I beg
of you--do this thing for me. At any cost."

"Yes--Janey," he gulped, and leaned against the window.

Janey's reserve strength had oozed out in expression. She
waited in suspense. She saw his lean jaw quiver and the cords set
in his neck. He turned to transfix her with accusing eyes.

"On one condition," he said.

"Condition!--What?" she whispered.

"This, then, is the last time you and I will ever be alone
together?" he asked, huskily.

She was past falsehood and could only stare mutely at him.

"Of course it must be. Well, my price for your favor is that
you let me...No! I will not bargain...You lovely heartless
thing--you'd only refuse. I'll take what will give me strength to
do your bidding!"

Janey backed against the wall, her hands against her breast,
as if to ward him off. But when like a whirlwind he seized her in
his arms he never knew those trembling hands locked round his
neck. Mad with grief and unrequited love, he crushed her to his
breast and pressed wild unsatisfied kisses upon her closed eyes,
her parted lips, her neck. And releasing her as suddenly, he
staggered to the door, like a blinded man, and leaned his face
against it, sobbing: "Janey! Janey!...Janey!"

He did not turn to see her outstretched arms, her convulsed
face. And as Janey could not speak he bolted out in ignorance.
Janey closed her eyes, slowly recovering.

CHAPTER 13

The sun had set when the car entered the heavy forest of pine
that skirted the mountains. Snow was blowing. The wind was bitter
cold, and moaned in the trees. How the car hummed on! Night fell,
and the forest was black. The headlights cast broad gleams into
the forest at the curves of the road, making specters of the dark
pines.

In the hotel lobby, Janey, indifferent to loungers there, held
frozen ungloved hands to the open fire. She had learned the real
good of fire, its dire necessity, as she had begun the learning
of many other things.

As Janey turned, she saw a tall stoop-shouldered man, rather
lean and scholarly, rise from a chair to accost Randolph.

"How do you do, Mr. Elliot," replied Randolph, constrainedly.
"How are you? This is my friend--and patron, I may add--Mr.
Endicott, of New York."

"Ah! How do you do, Mr. Endicott," returned Elliot, rather
slowly, extending his hand to meet Endicott's. "Patron? Of what,
may I ask?"

"Yes, he is, indeed," returned the doctor, not without
sarcasm. "Overzealous, I may say, in estimating things. Dreamy
when he should be scientific. Witness the ridiculous rumor just
phoned in from Cameron."

"Rumor? What was it?" asked Randolph, tersely. Janey liked the
lift of his head, and grew interested. No doubt this was the
museum director who had discharged Phillip.

"Some nonsense about your having discovered Beckyshibeta,"
replied Elliot, with a dry laugh. "It was telephoned in to the
newspaper by a chauffeur. Annoying to me, to say the least."

Randolph glanced at Endicott and said, "We stopped at Cameron
for gas."

"Must have been Driver Bill," replied Endicott, sprightly,
with a shrewd eye upon Elliot.

"Yes, Dr. Elliot, it was--rather previous," said Randolph in
as dry a tone as the director's. But there was fire in his
eye.

"Ahem!--I'm waiting here for two of our men due from New
Mexico. Expect to put them on the job from which I removed you. I
trust Mr. Bennet, the trader, informed you of this move."

Endicott nodded in reply to the doctor's questioning look, but
he did not speak. Janey knew the gleam in her father's eye. He
would say something presently.

"Randolph, I was very sorry indeed to remove you," went on
Elliot blandly. "There's no need to repeat my reasons. You've
been advised often enough."

"Dr. Elliot, you need not distress yourself over doing what
you considered your duty," rejoined Randolph. "It certainly
doesn't distress me. In fact it was the only lucky thing that
ever happened to me since my connection with the museum."

"Indeed. Excuse me if I fail to see any good fortune in that
for you," replied Elliot, stiffly.

"You never could see much about me. Perhaps you will when I
tell you that after you removed me I discovered
Beckyshibeta."

"What!" exclaimed Elliot, incredulously.

"I discovered Beckyshibeta," repeated Randolph, forcefully,
truth clear in his paling face and piercing eye. "Probably the
greatest of all pueblo ruins. I have my proof. Mr. Endicott and
his daughter can substantiate my claim. Bennet, the cowboys, and
a Mrs. Durland with her son were all there."

Speechlessly Dr. Elliot turned to Endicott for corroboration
of this astounding assertation.

"Fact," said Endicott, shortly. "I'm about to wire Dr.
Bushnell, head of the museum. Also Jackson, a good friend of
mine. Want them to know that I stand behind Randolph. It remains
to be decided whether we shall let the museum in on the
excavation work."

"The same, sir," returned Endicott, bowing, and abruptly left
the astounded director to join Janey beside the fire.

"Janey, old girl, did you get that?" he whispered. "I'm simply
tickled pink, as you say...Now listen to Phil lay him out
cold."

Dr. Elliot seemed to be in the throes of amazement and
consternation.

"Ah! Indeed!--So it's true," he began, floundering to retrieve
himself. "Most remarkable. Incredible, I may say. But of course,
I understand--a fact. You are most fortunate, Randolph, in your
discovery and to have gained the interest of Elijah Endicott. I
congratulate you...And I--er--ahem--perhaps it is I who is
somewhat previous. Pray forget your hasty dismissal. It really
was not authentic--going through a third party. Somewhat
irregular. We can adjust the matter amicably. In fact I--I'd
consider it a favor if you will not mention the matter to our New
York office."

"Janey, darling, just then you reminded me of your mother,"
said her father, with feeling. "It's a long time since you've done
that."

"Mother?...I'm glad, Daddy. Perhaps--after this--this lesson
of yours I will grow more like her."

"Janey," whispered Endicott, bending over her, "you mean to go
on with this cruel marriage and--"

"Yes," she returned, dropping her eyes. "It will kill
Phillip."

"Nonsense. Men don't die of unrequited love."

"If your mother had led me to the altar--and left me--I'm sure
I'd never have lived to face it."

"Phil Randolph is made of sterner stuff. Besides he has a
brilliant future...I'm tired now, Dad, and very hungry."

The sunshine poured in at Janey's window, telling her that she
had slept late, though this was to be the day of days. She lay
watching the gold shadows on the curtain, aware of the fresh cool
dry air on her face. Her active mind took up the development of
plans where the night before she had left off. Her father had
secured a Pullman drawing room on the Limited. The securing of
this, or at least a compartment on the train, was of paramount
importance. Only one more detail to arrange--the strongest link
in the chain to her climax!

Janey arose, conscious of inward excitation and suspense.
After all, she could not be sure of anything until she was
Phillip's wife. That would be the consummation of hopes, the
allaying of fears. The rest would be like the denouement of a
good play.

She looked out of her window. How blue the sky! The mountain
peaks stood up like dark spears. Patches of snow shone in the
sunlight, running down to the edge of the vast green belt of
forest land. She could see into the fields adjacent to town.
Horses were romping with manes flying in the wind; red and white
cattle were grazing on a grassy hill; the scattered pine trees
seemed to call to her to come and ride. Cut-over timberlands led
her gaze to distant foothills and these to far-off black bluffs
and hazy desert. Arizona! There was no place in the world so full
of romance and beauty, and the natural things that stirred the
soul.

Janey went into the little open parlor of the hotel, where her
father sat before a cozy fire, reading a newspaper.

"What a lazy bride-to-be!" he said good-humoredly. "We had
breakfast long ago."

"Mawnin', Dad," drawled Janey. "Reckon I'll have a cup of
coffee and some toast up heah."

"You look very sweet and lovely for a prospective murderess,"
he said. "Janey, old dear, I give up forever trying to figure
women."

"Fine! Now you will be the best of fathers. Where's Phil?"

"He was here a moment ago with the marriage license. Lord, but
he's funny. Like a sleepwalker! I have made a ten o'clock
appointment with a minister--Dr. Cardwell. Nice old chap. He's
from Connecticut. Came here years ago with lung trouble. His life
had been despaired of in the East. But he's hale and hearty now.
I tell you, Janey, this Arizonie, as Bennet calls it, is a
wonderful country."

"Arizona. Mellow, golden, sustaining, beautiful, clean with
desert wind," murmured Janey, gazing down into the fire.
"Presently I shall tell you what it has done for me."

"I'll fetch your coffee and toast," returned Endicott, with
alacrity.

The moments passed with Janey musing. Presently her father
entered, carrying a small tray. Randolph also came in. He wore a
dark suit that showed his stalwart form to advantage. Janey
admired again the clean-shaven tanned face, lean and strong.

"Good morning, Miss Endicott," he said, with courtesy, but his
steady gaze made Janey almost feel a little uneasy in spite of
herself. She gazed at him over her cup of coffee.

"Howdy, Phil. Are the horses ready?"

"No," he flashed. "But the taxi is."

Janey laughed, her composure restored. How eager Randolph was
to get this awful business settled!

"Dad, you said our train left at seven something, didn't
you?"

"Seven-ten. It's the Limited and always on time," he
replied.

"So long to wait. I wish for Mr. Randolph's sake it left hours
earlier."

"Don't worry about Phillip, my dear," returned Endicott.
"We've got a lot to talk over and won't bother you."

"Thank you...I'll get my things on and be back pronto," said
Janey, and hurried away to her room.

Randolph showed that the strain was wearing upon him. Janey
thought it would be wise for her to see as little as possible of
him after the wedding up until nearly train time. She felt
nervous and tense herself. It wanted but a few minutes to ten
o'clock. She put on her coat and hat, and a veil, which she
carefully arranged. How white her face and big her eyes! Then she
hurried back to join the gentlemen, who rose at her entrance.

"I'm ready," she said, rather tremulously. "Is--everything
arranged?"

"Why, I'm sure it is, Janey," returned her father, turning to
Randolph. "There's not so much. Minister, license, taxi. What
else?"

"Mr. Randolph, did you purchase a wedding ring?"

"No," he replied, with the strangest of glances at her.

"Then you must do so at once. I'll go with you. Surely there's
a jeweler here."

"I have a wedding ring. It was my mother's. It hardly matters
whether it fits or not."

"Doesn't it?--That's all you know," said Janey. Her hands were
trembling while she tried it on. "Oh, it's a perfect fit...What a
pretty ring! I like old-fashioned wedding rings best."

"Old-fashioned weddings, too," added her father. "Lord, Janey,
I always dreaded one of those swell weddings for you. Might have
saved myself a lot of worry. Come on. We'll have this over in a
jiffy."

He led her downstairs, through the lobby, and out to a waiting
taxi. Randolph had evidently stopped behind for something.
Presently he came out, and squeezing into the taxi he laid
something on Janey's knee without a word. She tucked aside a
corner of her veil and opened the loose paper package on her lap.
Flowers of some kind! Then she thrilled. The tiny bouquet was
composed of bits of cedar and juniper foliage, with their green
and lavender berries, several wild roses, and a sprig of sage
with the exquisite rare finde blossoms. Janey was so deeply
touched that she could not speak, and she quickly dropped the
corner of the veil, lest Phil should see the havoc wrought by these
sweet symbols from the desert.

The short ride, the simple brief ceremony, and the return to
the hotel were like changing moments of a trance to Janey. She
would not have exchanged the simplicity of her marriage for all
the pomp of royalty.

Once more safe in her room she laid aside the bouquet, flung
her gloves, tore off the veil, and threw aside hat and coat. And
she did not recognize the face in the mirror. Janey had never
raved about her looks, but she gloried in them now.

"It's over. I'm his wife," she whispered, kissing the slim
band of gold on her finger. "Now! Now I'm safe--and oh, so
unutterably happy!...How can I wait to tell him? Suppose he ran
off to his desert before I could!...Oh, my bursting heart!"

Janey wept in the exaltation of that hour. It was long before
composure returned, and then it was such composure as she had
never known. No one would have guessed that she had cried like an
overjoyous girl.

Her father knocked at her door and called: "Janey, we've
arranged a lunch over here at a restaurant. Will you come?"

"Indeed I will. Just a minute, Dad, and I'll join you." She
dispensed with the veil this time. Let them be mystified at the
glow on her face and the light in her eyes! They were only men
who knew nothing of the wondrous strength and generosity of a
woman's heart. Then she went out.

"Listen. You'll believe your very own words," replied Janey,
and went on to repeat many things that had been burned indelibly
on her memory.

"That's enough," suddenly interrupted her father, very red in
the face. "I can see you were there."

"All the time you knew!" exclaimed Randolph, wide-eyed and
ashamed.

"All the time," replied Janey, smiling at them.

"Lord save me from another daughter," burst out Endicott,
helplessly.

"I'll run along now," added Janey, rising. "Thanks for the
luncheon. I'll remember it...Dad, we will wait for dinner on the
train...Mr. Randolph, you will go to the train with us to say
good-by? Please. It will look better. Must I remind you--"

"No, you needn't remind me of anything," interrupted Randolph,
almost violently, dark and passionate pain and reproach in his
eyes. "I'll be at the train to bid--good-by--to my
wife--forever."

"Ah--Thank you. Then all is well," replied Janey, averting her
eyes. "Adios--till then."

As she glided away from them, out into the main restaurant,
she heard her father say: "Phil, my God I need a drink."
Randolph's reply followed with a sudden scrape of a chair on the
floor.

"Eli, you old villain, I'll need two," he said, weakly. "And
we'll drink to all that's left to me--Beckyshibeta."

Janey went out tingling, blushing, glowing. It was even more
fun, more satisfaction than she had anticipated. How
flabbergasted her father had been! And she had dared only one
fleeting look at the stricken Randolph. "All the time you knew!"
he had cried. Janey reflected that when he had returned to sanity
he would recall many things that might embarrass her. But she
would take good care he never recovered his sanity. Then she went
about the last few tasks needed to insure this blissful future
for Randolph.

First she engaged the hotel porter to fetch Randolph's bag to
the train with hers and her father's. She made it clear to the
bright-eyed colored lad--as well as remunerative--that Randolph
was not to see this removal of baggage. Next she set out to look
for some cowboys.

But not until actually embarked on this quest did she realize
its absurdity and risk, not to consider embarrassment. It was an
early afternoon hour on Saturday. Flagerstown appeared full of
cowboys and those she passed on the street were certainly not
unaware of her presence. Finally, near the post office, Janey
located three typical cowboys standing beside a motion-picture
advertisement that graced the corner of the block. It happened to
be a vacant lot, which accounted, perhaps, for the cowboys being
comparatively alone.

Janey walked slowly by, calmly appraising them. How like
Mohave, Zoroaster, Ray! Cowboys all resembled one another. Janey
expected to be noticed and commented upon. She was not
disappointed.

"Andy, did you see what I seen?" broke out one.

"Wal, I reckon. An' I'm shore dizzy," was the reply.

"Some looker, pards," added the third.

The encounter ordinarily would have ended there, but these
cowboys, or some cowboys, at least, were indispensable to her
plan. She had to have them. She was prepared to go to the limit
of making eyes at them to carry her point. Thinking hard Janey
decided to walk by them again, down the street, then return, and
ask them to come into the post office. To that end she turned
back. As she neared them she was afraid she was smiling. What a
warm feeling she had for these lean, hard-faced cowboys!

She passed, with ears acute to catch any whispers.

"My Gawd--Andy, look at them legs!" hoarsely whispered one.
"Wimmin ought to be arrested fer wearin' them short skirts."

"Only seen her eyes, but thet was aplenty," came the reply.
"My pore little Susie! I'll never love her any more."

Janey did not hear the third man's remark, and was glad she
had not. Her face burned. What keen devils these cowboys! Right
then and there Janey's plan, so far as they were concerned, went
into eclipse. Still she would not give up. Crossing the street
she went into the department store, made a few purchases, and
going out, crossed the street again, at the other end of the
block, and came down to enter the post office. She was cudgeling
her brain. If those cowboys saw her and followed her into the
post office she would risk speaking to them. Most cowboys were
chivalrous gentlemen at heart, for all their coarseness and
deviltry.

There appeared to be only two men in the post office. One was
huge and dark, the other small and fair. Suddenly Janey stood
transfixed. She recognized bold black eyes in the giant and sly
twinkling ones in the other. She knew these men.

"You'll always be Black Dick and Snitz to me. But I'm indeed
glad you're not real desperadoes. What a trick you played on
us!"

Suddenly a thought like a bright flash struck Janey into
radiance.

"Come here, both of you," she whispered, and drew the grinning
men away from the door into a corner. Here they were out of sight
of the post-office employees. No others had yet entered. What
luck! Janey felt a gush of riotous blood heat her veins. "Will
you do me a favor? Do you want to make fifty dollars apiece?"

"Well, Miss Endicott, your voice is sweet music," whispered
Dick.

"Lady, I'll lay down my life fer you fer nothin'," declared
Snitz.

"Listen," began Janey, hurriedly. "I am no longer Miss
Endicott. I was married to Mr. Randolph today...Never mind
congratulating me. Listen. Father and I leave tonight on the
Limited. Mr. Randolph my husband--I'm afraid he doesn't want to
go East with me very bad. But I want him to go. I want him
terribly. Will you help me kidnap him?"

"I never heard of the like," added Snitz, most forcefully.
"The lucky son-of-a-gun! But them archaeologists are plumb queer
ducks. Lady, we'll shore do anythin' fer you."

"Splendid. Can you get another trusty man--a friend--one who
is big and strong? Randolph will fight."

"Shore. I know a fellar who's bigger'n a hill. He can throw a
barrel of flour right up into a wagon. Reckon the three of us can
put Randolph on thet train in less'n a couple of winks."

"Very well. Then it's settled," went on Janey, now calm and
serene. "Here are your instructions. The three of you be at the
station when the Limited comes in. Keep sharp lookout for me.
I'll be with father and Mr. Randolph. Follow us a little
behind--not too close--and when we reach our Pullman you wait a
little aside. I'll stop at the car entrance nearest the drawing
room. I'll wait until the conductor calls all aboard. When I step
up that will be your signal to seize Randolph and carry him after
me. Be quick. And don't be gentle. Remember, he is powerful and
will fight. I want this to go off just like that."

And Janey snapped her fingers.

"Lady, say them instructions over," replied Dick,
earnestly.

She repeated them word for word.

Black Dick lifted his shaggy black head.

"Jest like thet," he said, snapping huge fingers. "Lady, it's
as good as done."

"You are my very good friends," concluded Janey, all smiles.
"You are helping me more than you can guess. I'll never forget
you. Good-by."

She left them there, rooted to the spot, and swept out of the
post office in a state of supreme bliss. The gods had favored
her. Suddenly she saw the three cowboys not far ahead, standing
expectantly. They had seen her come out. Janey checked a wild
impulse to break across the street in the middle of the block, so
she would not have to pass them. Then, very erect, with chin
tilted, she went on and by, as if she had never seen them.

If they could have seen Janey's convulsed and happy face, when
she reached the corner, they would have had more cause to wonder
about the female species.

The afternoon passed like a happy dream. Janey spent most of
it trying to think of things to say to Phillip when the
revelation came. She changed it a hundred times. How could she
tell what to say? But every moment that brought the climax closer
found Janey's state more intense. She must hold out. She must
stay to the finish. When the porter knocked she leaped up with a
start.

"Mr. Endicott is waiting," he announced. "The Limited is in
the block."

"Where is--Mr. Randolph?" asked Janey, with lips that
trembled.

"He's waiting, too. I'll fetch your baggage--all of it, right
after," he replied, and he winked at her.

Janey hurriedly got into hat and coat, and omitted the veil.
How white she was! Her eyes looked like great dark gulfs. She
went downstairs. Her father looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
Randolph had not a vestige of color in his face. She joined them,
and they went out in silence. Dark had fallen. The street lamps
were lit. The air had mountain coolness in it. On the moment the
Limited pulled into the station, and slowed down to a stop, steam
blowing, bell clanging.

It was only a brief walk from the hotel to the broad platform
where the Pullmans stood. Janey had the glance of a hawk and saw
every group of persons there. Not until she spied Black Dick and
his comrades did the tension in her break. What a stupendous man
the third one was! He made Dick look small. Janey knew Dick had
seen her, though he seemed not to notice. He and his allies kept
outside the platform, where Randolph was oblivious of them.
Indeed he seemed oblivious of everything.

"Here's our car," spoke up Endicott, with an effort.

"See if our drawing room is at this end," replied Janey, and
she stepped to face round. That made her confront Randolph. Over
his shoulder she saw her three accomplices scarcely a rod away,
and Black Dick was watching. It was going to be a success. Janey
felt a blaze within her--an outburst that had been smothered.

Her father touched her arm. He looked miserable, shaken.

"Drawing room at this end. I'll go in. So long, Phil."

And he fled. Janey edged nearer to Randolph, close, and peered
up at him, knowing that a blind man could have read her eyes. But
he was more than blind. She pulled at a button on his coat,
looking down, and then she flashed her eyes into his again.

"God! I'd do it tomorrow if I thought it'd hurt you," he
returned, hoarsely.

The engine bell rang, to echo in Janey's heart.

"All aboard!" yelled the conductor somewhere forward.

Janey wheeled and ran up the car steps, and turning, was in
time to see three dark burly forms rush Randolph, and literally
throw him up the steps, onto the platform. Janey ran into the
hallway, shaking in her agitation. She heard loud exclamations,
the tussling of bodies, the thud of boots. Then the men appeared
half dragging, half carrying the fiercely struggling
Randolph.

Janey fled to the door of the drawing room. They were
coming.

"Soak him, Bill. He's a bull," said Dick, low and hard.

Janey heard a sodden blow. The struggle ceased. The men came
faster. They were almost carrying Randolph. Janey's heart leaped
to her throat.

"In--here," she choked, standing aside.

They thrust Randolph into the drawing room, and rushed back
toward the exit. Black Dick turned, his big black eyes rolling
merrily. Then he was gone. The train started--gathered momentum.
Outside the porter was yelling. He slammed the vestibule doors
and came running.

"Lady--what's wrong?" he asked, in alarm. "Three men upset me.
I couldn't do nothin'."

"It's all right, porter," replied Janey. "My--my husband had
to be assisted on the train."

"Aw now, I was scared."

Janey's father appeared from down the aisle.

"What was that row?" he asked, nervously. Janey barred the
door into the drawing room.

"Dad--I've kidnaped Phillip," she said, very low and clear.
Endicott threw up his hands.

"Holy Mackali!" he gasped.

Janey closed and locked the door. The drawing room was dark.
She turned on the light. Randolph was breathing hard. He had been
dazed, if not stunned. There was grime on his face and a little
blood. The bruise Ray had left over his eye, and which had not
wholly disappeared, had been raised again. Janey darted to wet
her handkerchief. She wiped his face--bathed his forehead. She
had told that ruffian Dick not to be gentle. Remorse smote her.
Suddenly she touched Phillip's face.

He was staring with eyes that appeared about to start from his
head. He grasped her with shaking hands. He gaped at the car
window and the lights flashing by. Then he seemed to realize what
had happened.

"They threw me on the train," he burst out, incredulously.

Janey rose to stand before him.

"You--you--"

"Yes, I've kidnaped you," she interrupted.

"My God!--Janey, could you carry revenge so far? Oh, how
cruel! You pitiless woman!"

He fell face down against the cushion.

"Phillip," she called, trying to stay the trembling hands that
leaped toward him.

When he did not look or speak, she went on softly: "Phil."

No response. Her head fluttered to his shoulder.

"Husband!"

At that, his haggard face lifted and his terrible eyes stared
as those of a man who knew not what he saw.

"I have kidnaped you--yes--forever!" He fell on his knees to
clasp her blouse with plucking hands.

"Janey, if I am not drunk or mad--make me understand," he
implored.

She locked her hands behind his head. "Indeed you are hard to
convince. Have we not been married? Are you not my captive on
this train? Is this not the eve of our honeymoon?"

She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, and lastly, as he seemed rapt
and blind, his lips. "Phillip, I love you," she said.

"Oh, my darling, say that again!"

"I love you. I love you. I love you...It was what you did to
me. Oh! I confess. I deserved it. I was no good--and if not
actually bad I was headed for bad...Oh, Phillip, you spanked some
sense into me in time, and your desert changed and won me. I
bless you for making me a woman. I will give up what was that
idle, useless, wasteful life--and work with you--for you--to make
a home for you...Forgive this last little deceit. Oh, you should
have seen Dad's face...Kiss me!...Come, let us go tell him I'm
your Beckyshibeta."